


Feathers

by Looming



Series: If the Morning Comes [1]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Ambiguous Relationships, F/F, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2019-09-24 10:12:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 105,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17098667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Looming/pseuds/Looming
Summary: “I should probably get this off my chest before we get your little ass back to Blackwell.”“My ass isn’t little…” Max grumbles, halfhearted and more on reflex than anything. It’s just so easy to talk without thinking when Chloe is involved.When she looks, Chloe is staring at her with a quirked eyebrow and the urge to reach over and ruffle her hair written clear across her face. “Uh huh.Anyway.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you just gotta turn all those half finished one-shot ideas into a whole story because you know you're not writing them any other way.

Quiet.

If you asked, that’s how Max would describe Arcadia Bay after five years away. Everything, all that fresh air and small-town charm feels the same as it always has. But the parts of her childhood that were loud and reckless: secret wine not-so-secretly spilled on the carpet, playing pirates until the sun went down, carving names into trees with long lost friends, those haven’t found any place in her new life. Maybe there isn’t room for them anymore. Maybe to New Max, all that childish fun is just a thing of the past.

If you asked, she would maybe say she’s okay with that.

New things have fallen into place to fill those holes in Max’s life. They’re satisfying in different ways. Quieter, more adult ways, she might say. If anyone asked. Moving away was never her choice, but everything else; everything after; she took each of those steps herself. Trading everything she’d had for a future in photography and a _now_ at a prestigious art school was a difficult choice, but she’d been so cleanly separated from her past that it was easier to never look back. Always look forward, treat Arcadia Bay as something new. New Max would never be a famous photographer if she spent her life dwelling on Old Max and what she left behind.

New Max.

New Arcadia Bay.

“ – Uh, Max?”

“Hm?” Max blinks herself blearily back into the moment to see a boy sitting across from her, more than a little concerned. He’s got that sort of choppy haircut that Max has noticed boys tend to wear when they’re deeply uncomfortable with the concept of a salon, and it does nothing but contribute to the completely unremarkable air about him. It takes a moment for her to put a name to the face. Warren… something. There’s an entire courtyard full of space for him to start his day in, but obviously he’s sitting at Max’s table.

Obviously.

Being tucked away in the back corner at a picnic table under the trees, surrounded by a very sturdy, and _very_ opaque brick wall should be enough to make Max invisible to anyone and everyone, but Warren is one of the two people that logic never seems to apply to.

“Earth to Max,” Warren tries again, smiling like he’s inviting her in on some sort of joke. “You doing okay in there?”

“Hm.” Max’s eyes fall back across the yard. She shouldn’t be so judgy, Warren seems nice enough. And it’s not as if she’s much better off with her old, too-faded hoodie and jeans. It’s just that Warren also has the unfortunate habit of only ever talking to Max when she wants to be alone. And right now, she has a date with some nosy thoughts about her past.

“The uh,” he sputters on at that, nasal tinge just a bit clearer as he runs a hand through his hair and struggles to regain his balance. “The drive-in? It… it’s only about sixty miles away, and I was wondering – ”

“Super Max! _There_ you are. Don’t tell me, did forgot about our breakfast plans already?” calls another voice from closer to the dorms. And this time, when Max realizes who it is, she has to try burying her grin behind a hand.

It doesn’t work, but she gets a wink for her effort.

“Hey, Rachel.”

Rachel looks as incredible as ever, even with yesterday’s makeup and her long sandy hair still messy from sleep. Her tank top is torn at the edges and at least a size too big. It’s a look, right down to the unused suspenders and the jeans that seem like they’ve seen one too many skateboarding accidents to still be holding together. She has a lot of looks. And this one, the whole sleepy skater-mermaid thing, seems almost purpose made for rescuing her. Like she has some kind of spidey-sense for Max being in trouble.

It feels almost selfish to say; like admitting Rachel cares is all it would take for everything to go up in smoke. Because Rachel is the absolute last thing Max ever expected Blackwell Academy to give her. Everything about Rachel is so effortless and graceful and… everything that Max isn’t. She’s absolutely gorgeous, she’s friends with _everyone_ , and she always seems to know exactly where to be and exactly what to say.

And she, _mysteriously_ , likes Max.

Before she came back to Arcadia Bay, that might have made her suspicious. As recently as a month ago, it _did_ make her suspicious. After all, why would someone like Rachel Amber ever hang out with someone like her? She’s only Max Caulfield. And even more than that, she has never in her life been the focus of Rachel’s sort of attention. The kind that makes her breath hitch and her brain stop in its tracks with as little as a single innocent touch. The kind that radiates fire like it’s the easiest thing in the world. No, Max has never had someone like Rachel in her life. Never known someone so thoroughly dedicated to helping Max come out of her shell, and to keeping her from the moments she still can’t handle.

Not since before. Not since Old Max.

But Rachel, even through that mistrust and confusion, has been an absolute angel from the first day they met. She’s rescued Max from more awkward situations than she can even count, and she _worries_ whenever she pushes Max farther than she’s used to. Max used to think she was just imagining things whenever it happened, but no matter what anyone says, she’s only quiet, not blind. Not talking doesn’t mean she’s not paying attention. Seeing Rachel play at being shy to get something out of a boy or a teacher is totally different than seeing Rachel try to ask Max for something that might make her uncomfortable. At some point, it just became easier to accept that as fact than to go on believing she was the victim of some months-long prank. Accepting it doesn’t have to make that reality any less incredible, after all.

And, truthfully, Max still hasn’t forgotten that line Rachel hit her with the first and only time she had the courage to ask.

 _I’ve got a guardian angel of my own,_ she’d said, brushing her hair behind her ears, suddenly unable to meet Max’s eyes, _and I want to pass that kindness along._

Back in the present, though, Rachel is clicking her tongue in frustration and leveling Warren with a look of pure disbelief. “I just can _not_ believe it! Can you believe this girl?” And when she slides right up to Max’s side, Max knows she needs to look away because if that boy ever stood a chance at getting a date out of her, that chance was dissolved into nothing by the sheer strength of Rachel’s presence pressed flush against her arm. She even hears the acting voice come out, which means the puppy dog eyes can’t be far behind. Poor Warren. “I’m completely speechless.”

Warren fumbles even harder than earlier to parse what he’s seeing, and just barely manages to stutter out a mostly coherent thought. “I – uh, hi – hey. Rachel. I, what… Max?”

“Right?” Rachel bubbles, knowingly nudging herself into Max’s shoulder. “I mean, I’ve spent days looking forward to going out with my favorite photo cutie in the whole wide world, and do you know what happened when I knocked on her door?”

Max can feel Warren’s eyes burning a hole into the side of her head, pleading for help that’s never going to come. The statue in the center of the courtyard is just _so_ interesting. Who makes statues of themselves anymore?

“She… wasn’t there?” he tries.

Rachel wraps herself around one of Max’s arms, then. “She wasn’t there! Now, I hate to interrupt, but I really do need to let her have a piece of my mind before classes start. You understand, don’t you?”

“Uh – ”

“Great!” and she’s launched them both onto their feet before she even finishes talking. “Thanks so so much, sweetie.”

They’re halfway to the front doors and completely out of sight before Rachel finally drops the act. It flows away from her like waves of mist, barely there in the first place. She keeps her hold on Max’s arm. “God… Max.”

“I know.”

“ _Maaaax._ ”

“I know.” and she does. Really. It’s not fair to keep giving so many noncommittal answers, and… non… answers… and finding ways to avoid smashing his hope. But he’s harmless enough. Even if Rachel likes to argue otherwise. She’ll tell him no eventually.

“Like, sixty miles? For a movie? We have a regular, normal theater right here in town, but I guess he can’t cut off any sort of escape plan that way.”

And, okay, Rachel _does_ have a point.

“I know. He’s,” Max sighs, and now she’s feeling as exhausted as Rachel sounds. “…I know.” But when Rachel squeezes her hand and lets her fingers jump the distance to the small of her back, Max smiles. She’s blushing before she can stop it.

Thankfully, that’s also the point where Rachel lets things be. The rest of their walk to class is mercifully quiet, and even though Max has long lost the thread of her earlier picnic table thoughts, she still appreciates the opportunity for some actual breathing room before her day begins.

It’s a little silly how Rachel sometimes seems more in tune with that desire than herself.

It’s a little silly how familiar that feeling is.

“So, hey.” The words knock Max back out of her head. She doesn’t piece together that they’ve already made it to Mrs Hoida’s class until she feels Rachel urging her just a bit past the door. “Our incredibly, extremely, _definitely_ real morning plans are shot, but I was actually hoping to grab something to eat with you later.” Rachel reaches down to play with the edges of Max’s sleeves ask she asks, and as she waits for Max to answer. “There’s a quiet little diner in town that’s just about as close to ‘on the beach’ as you can get around here.”

“Yeah?” Max grins. She has to look away when she sees Rachel’s eyes all but sparkling. “Yeah that sounds nice, Rachel.”

“ _Aaaand,_ ” Rachel goes on. She reaches up, traces her blue feather earring with one hand and smiles just a bit wider. “There’s someone I want to introduce you to. You’re gonna love her. Promise. But only if you’re up for it.”

And it’s maybe a bit much to have sprung on her just before English class, but between the look in Rachel’s eyes and the way her fingers are still dancing around Max’s wrists trailing sparks and fire, she’s a bit more than a bit willing to agree. “Sure. Yeah, let’s do it.”

“Cool! It’s a date.” Rachel’s smile, however possible, grows even bigger until her eyes are crinkling up at the edges and the air around her even seems to light up with relief. She pulls Max into a hug right then and there.

She doesn’t let Max go even when someone scoffs just outside the doorway.

The loud “Love you too, Vicky!” that Rachel throws over Max’s shoulder at least tells her who it is. Right. She’ll figure that one out eventually.

Dana, one of Rachel’s friends, practically bounces out of her chair in excitement when they step inside, and Rachel leaves Max with a tiny little scratch along her waist, just underneath the hem of her shirt as she pulls away to head off whatever that’s about. Before Max can go her own way though, Dana is beaming across the room at her like she’s happier just for having been noticed.

She’s never talked to Dana before, and Max is still Max, even with all that Rachel in her life, so her first instinct tells her to be defensive. But then, things have been good since she stopped listening to that particular voice in her head.

 _Really_ good.

So she lets herself smile back.

~*~

That feeling carries Max through the rest of her day, keeps her happy and focused through every one of her classes, and drops her straight into a meeting with Victoria Chase. She only trips and bangs her head on her locker a _little_ bit when she sees Victoria waiting for her, perfectly manicured hands perched _flawlessly_ on the _elegant_ swell of her hips and an _immaculate_ scowl on her _delicate_ face. It’s still a bit of a shock to Max that she’s all it takes for someone as perfect as Victoria to invite so many wrinkles at every possible opportunity. Small victories. Maybe she’ll even get a chance to learn why she hates her so much.

“Max _ine_ ,” Victoria spews like venom, too much emphasis on every syllable. Maybe an answer to this mystery was a bit much to hope for. “You and I need to talk.”

There is an attempt at breathing deep, squaring her shoulders, and reminding Victoria that it’s Max. Never Maxine. It doesn’t exactly pan out, because Victoria barrels ahead without even giving her the chance. “About Rachel. About how she’s treating you like her newest little pet project now that things are a mess with the other girl.”

That answers that.

Only, now Max has about a hundred and a half new questions about what’s happening here. So, really, it hasn’t solved much.

Max tries again, and this time it even works. Her eyes are burning holes through the floor between them, and she’s not entirely sure what to do with her hands, but she is talking. It’s more than she’s managed until now, at least. “Victoria, I’m sorry for whatever I did to make you angry, but – ”

“You should _know_ what she does with her girlfriends.”

Max isn’t entirely sure how to respond to that one. She finally works up the courage to meet Victoria’s eyes, and all she can manage to do is stare in confusion. She isn’t even sure if the _wowser_ that crosses her mind managed to sneak past her tongue or not. Even if it didn’t though, she probably looks ridiculous, completely freezing under the ice-cold force of Victoria’s stare like she is. One step forward, fifty more back, she supposes. Thankfully, maybe, Max isn’t sure whether it’s a positive or not; but before Victoria gets a chance to pull any more of the floor out from under her feet, Rachel is there. And someone else, too. One of Victoria’s friends: she’s tall and blonde and probably one of the few people Max has ever seen capable of making a denim jacket look like high fashion.

The friend does her best at soothing Victoria down from whatever ledge she was on, but judging by the fact that Victoria’s jaw is still clenched tight enough to bend steel, it’s not working too well. She looks angry about more than just Max. But Max doesn’t see anything more than that, because Rachel is leading her outside and away from the entire thing.

It’s probably for the best. Victoria was probably just hoping to scare her. Probably.

“Hey, is everything okay? Victoria didn’t give you too much trouble?” Rachel asks, once they’re off in some quieter corner in some quieter hallway. Her thumbs are rubbing circles at Max’s shoulders, and… Rachel is too good at this. Calming Max down. Always being where she needs to be. All of it. Victoria though… no, she handed Max an enormous helping of questions, but no trouble.

Max nods, and lets out a strangled breath. “Yeah. Thanks… I – I don’t know why she’s like that.”

The thoughtful “ _Hm,_ ” that she gets in response makes Max wonder if maybe Rachel does. There’s something in the way she’s smiling; something that seems a little more fake than usual. The kind of fake she puts on when she’s not sure how to answer something and thinks, or hopes, that Max won’t notice. But Max isn’t about to push. Max isn’t about to get suspicious. If Rachel doesn’t want to tell her – if Rachel even knows – then she doesn’t have to.

Max can figure this one out on her own.

Eventually.

“Are you still feeling up for our date? I can just walk you back to the dorms if not, it’s no problem.”

Yeah. Yeah, she _is_ still up for their date. And that smile finds its way back to Max’s face when she realizes as much.

~*~

In retrospect, Max probably should’ve expected that Rachel meant the Two Whales when she mentioned a diner on the beach. She never gave herself the chance to bring up that she used to live in Arcadia, after all. She sort of, kind of didn’t want to mention it. Of course Rachel would assume she doesn’t know about this place.

Rachel is something new. Blackwell is something new. Her life here, now, is something new. Mentioning that she practically made her third home here, somewhere between Joyce’s cooking and the crusty old truckers that she used to _insist_ were the pirates of the road, never felt important.

And even if she had, how was she supposed to explain that she abandoned her closest friend in the whole world when she left? Her _first_ friend. Her first crush. How was she supposed to tell Rachel that the reason they hadn’t spoken in half a decade was because she was too scared that her feelings might ruin things if she tried? It was too hard. Too much of a challenge. That was what Max decided all those years ago. Better to let it fade into the background as a weird, wonderful thing that she was too young to have words for than risk destroying what was there with a poorly thought out text or a call or a letter or…

Now though, watching Rachel catch the attention of the girl they’re here to meet, Max wonders if maybe she should have mentioned it after all.

She’s cigarette smoke and dyed hair – neon blue, exactly like they promised – tucked into an old, fraying beanie. It’s blue, too. Blue was always Max’s favorite color. Never hers. She’s a well-worn leather jacket, piercings and tattoos. She’s… she’s Chloe. Older, and more confident, and frying every circuit in Max’s brain because of it, but she’s still the same best friend that Max left behind all those years ago.

And she’s not looking at Max at all. Chloe’s attention is on Rachel like she doesn’t see anything else in the world. Chloe’s hands are on Rachel like she doesn’t care about anyone else in the world.

It’s getting hard to swallow past the lump in her throat.

Even before Chloe breathes out the words “My clothes look good on you, loser,” in a huskier voice than Max has _ever_ heard come from that mouth. Even before Chloe’s grin goes wide and feral and she pulls Rachel down into a kiss, slow and smug. The whole thing is so intimate that Max can’t help feeling she accidentally stepped into the middle of something private, even knowing that Rachel brought her here in the first place.

Max stands there, frozen and speechless until they pull away. Until Chloe’s teeth let Rachel’s bottom lip bounce back with a snap, carrying her smile to Rachel’s mouth along with it. She finally remembers she’s been staring when Rachel speaks up.

“Chloe,” Rachel bubbles, “This is – ”

But Chloe isn’t listening. Max knows because they’ve already locked eyes. Max knows because she’s watching realization dawn on Chloe’s face in painfully slow motion. Though, she doesn’t know if the terror she sees is really there or something she’s projecting onto the moment. The walls are already up and there’s something in the back of her mind running through every single interaction she’s had with Rachel since the start of the school year. This is some kind of prank. Rachel knew who Max was this whole time.

Rachel knows Chloe must hate her.

Victoria knew something after all.

Rachel has been messing with her.

Blood whirls through Max’s veins until she’s lightheaded and barely standing underneath the weight of that shock. _You should know what she does with her girlfriends._

Her legs are seconds from giving out until Chloe – like nothing has changed, and Max never hurt her, and her standing here is nothing more than a pleasant surprise – throws volume control entirely out the window. Her hands slap down on the table and it almost seems, for a second, like she might even try to leap out of her seat. “ _Max!?_ ”

“C – Chloe?” Max is impressed she even manages that much.

Hopefully she doesn’t sound as horrified as she feels.

“Oh,” Rachel whispers like she’s just now realizing she made a mistake. Judging by the worry in Rachels voice, she sounds even worse. Wonderful.

But she’s reaching for Max, brushing fingers against her elbow like she’s done a thousand times before. So Max turns. And she looks. And Rachel _is_ worried about her. It’s enough reassurance that even if the walls don’t completely disappear, Max can stop the world from spinning enough that she’s breathing again. Like she’s done for Rachel a thousand times before.

“Holy shit! Rach told me you were back, but you got hella cute, dude!” Chloe’s voice cracks through that calm, and something about hearing her shout like those five years were only five minutes brings the walls the rest of the way down.

It does not, however, stop a blush from furiously rushing its way down Max’s neck. “Oh!”

A minute ago, she might’ve said that blush was because the entire world seemed flipped on its head.

Now, she isn’t so sure.

But the world still feels a little bit upside down.

She gets barely a second to breathe between Rachel calmly ushering her into the seat opposite Chloe, and a voice yelling from the kitchen in a southern drawl that Max knows she would recognize anywhere. “Chloe Price! What’ve I told you about the language, there’re payin’ customers trying to eat.”

All the joy drains from Chloe’s body at once, and she’s pouting, slouching over in her seat as soon as she hears it. “ _Oh._ ”

Max’s world decides to stop spinning then, at least.

They’re all settled into the booth when Joyce makes her way out to take their orders. She looks the same as ever, and something about that helps steady Max just a little bit further. She’s still the same Joyce. Still the same blonde hair and tired smile. There’s still familiar ground to stand on here.

“Hey, mom, check it out!” Chloe, as always, bounces back like she’s made of energy. Like sitting still is completely out of the question. She isn’t quite vibrating with the effort it’s taking to contain herself, but it definitely feels that way. “Look who’s here!”

Joyce replies in that long-suffering way of hers, and the whole thing would almost bring a smile to Max’s face if she wasn’t still so off-balance. “Yes, hello Rachel. _Volume_ , Chloe.”

“No – I, fuck. Scold me some other time – _look!_ ” Chloe’s arms shoot across the table, her hands open palmed and shaking for emphasis.

Joyce only glances up from her notepad once she’s conjured a pen from the depths of her apron. She nearly drops it in the very same motion. And despite how selfish it is, Max is more than a little thankful that someone else has fallen into the pit of confusion that is these last few minutes. “Oh my goodness gracious, _Max!_ You look wonderful!”

“Thanks Joyce,” Max smiles, hesitant. “You look just as pretty as I remember.”

That earns her a smirk, and Max knows from the way Joyce reaches back to check her hair clip and tosses her pen and paper onto the table that it’s the exact same _you just earned yourself a hug, missy_ smirk from her childhood.

“Well come on now, you better get your tiny little butt outta that booth unless you want me to make even more of scene,” Joyce threatens, and Max knows she’s prepared to make good on it. She’d lift Max straight out of her seat if she let her. “Ain’t no way the big city made you too good for a proper small-town hello.”

So Max shuffles onto her feet and lets Joyce squeeze the beginnings of a giggle out of her. She lets herself forget her nerves, and even manages to keep them gone when Joyce eventually remembers to take their orders.

A cheeseburger for Max, and a double order of pancakes for Chloe and Rachel.

Chloe doesn’t even bother to wait until they’re alone again before pouring herself into stories about their childhood. Max takes the chance to let herself breathe, and to let herself listen and watch. She thinks about taking pictures for a few seconds, before realizing it would definitely ruin the moment.

Something about Rachel and Chloe together, here, at the same time, holds her so entranced that she can’t look away. There’s something in the way they look at each other; something in the way that one of them moves, and almost like it was always meant to be that way, never any different, pulls the other along with them. Some unnamable thing between them that has always, and will always, and forever and ever exist that way. Always letting the two of them fall into each other and away from each other. Always guiding the two of them back and forth and over and over because nothing in the universe could ever be safer or steadier.

Max is glad Chloe found someone like that.

Even if it stings.

“Oh Max, before I forget,” Rachel interrupts, somewhere in the middle of Chloe’s description of the homemade bomb they built to destroy a handful of dolls. She pokes her foot at Max’s ankle when Chloe doesn’t show any sign of stopping. “Dana, do you remember her? She was asking me to pass something on this morning. A party. Tomorrow. It’s going to be on the beach, there won’t be a ton of people or anything, and,” her foot brushes up and down the side of Max’s leg, a little more insistent than before. “I was going to ask anyway, but now I really need to find some way to make up for earlier.”

Chloe raises an eyebrow. Max stays quiet.

Rachel, though, grins like she’s never done anything wrong in her life when she continues. “I probably should’ve expected bringing you here unannounced would make Chloe… _explode_ like she did.”

“Hey.”

“She’s told me every single one of these stories about you at _least_ a hundred times already.”

“ _Hey._ ”

“Love you though, Priceless,” Rachel smiles just a bit wider when she leans over and kisses Chloe on the cheek. It has Chloe beaming like that was her goal all along.

“You should totally come though, Max!” Chloe adds, still grinning to herself. “I doubt it’ll match up to your insane Seattle parties, but we still know how to have a good time down here.”

And even if she doesn’t say it exactly, Max understands what Rachel means: she’s wanted. Rachel wants her there. No more surprises. Nothing like this ever again.

Maybe Max should be unsure. Maybe Max _would_ be unsure some other day. But today she feels exactly emptied out and exhausted enough to make a bad decision. And between Chloe’s genuine excitement and Rachel’s look of _if you don’t want to, it’s okay, I promise_ , she thinks she might even be able to handle that decision. Parties are still more than she’s used to, and they’ll probably stay that way even after this, but Rachel is trying. She’s _been_ trying. Maybe it’s time for Max to take that sort of jump for her.

Something in the pit of her chest whispers that Rachel wouldn’t mind even if she said no. But she wants to. New Max is brave enough for a party.

“ _Shit,_ ” Rachel frowns, fishing her phone out of her pocket. “Hold that thought.”

And as if on cue, Joyce shows up then with their food. “Everything alright, girls?”

So Max swallows her answer down, not quite sure what to focus on between Rachel looking anxiously outside and Joyce calmly placing their meals on the table. She tries turning to Chloe, thinking maybe some sort of answer will be waiting there, but all she finds is Chloe in a staring contest with a stack of six massive pancakes.

“I’m so sorry Joyce – and Max, shit – I have to go. I uh… family – family trouble,” Rachel reaches for her hair, running a hand slowly through and shaking it all out. She scrambles to her feet and tosses a few dollar bills on the table. “This should cover everything.”

Smiling a small, forced smile, she turns to Chloe. “Chloe, play nice.”

Max can’t tell if anyone else notices. It seems like no one else is even paying attention.

“I’m always nice,” Chloe scoffs, already halfway through drowning the pancakes – now hers alone – in nearly enough syrup to overflow off the edges of the plate.

“Take care, Rachel!” Joyce calls over her shoulder, already heading back to the kitchen.

Max blinks.

She takes a deep breath.

“Okay. Is Rachel – is she alright?” she asks, a little too harsh. A little too worried. But as long as she’s the only one feeling worried in the first place, Max figures it’s okay to feel a bit too much of it.

Chloe snorts around a dripping forkful of food like the question is at all funny. “She doesn’t have family trouble if that’s what you’re asking. Been awhile since I’ve heard that one, honestly,” she waits for a beat, staring Max down and shrugging a slow, eloquent shrug before continuing. “But yeah, she’s fine. It’s whatever, we’ve all got our own shit.”

And that answer feels final enough that Max isn’t sure she has any choice but to leave it alone. Slowly, she takes a bite of her burger.

“Anyway, don’t worry about Rachel,” Chloe says, still shoveling food into her mouth. “How was Seattle? Tell me everything!”

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

 _It… was lonely._ “It was fine. I didn’t really fit in, though.”

“Oh? I always imagined that place would be perfect for you. Hipsters and art nerds, as far as the eye can see.”

 _Sure, but it a missing a certain someone._ “…I guess, but I always felt a little out of my league. Everyone out there was so sure of themselves and their futures. All I know is that I want to take pictures. I’m… hoping I can figure out the rest soon.”

Chloe smirks and takes another huge bite. She locks eyes with Max as she does. “Well, it’s good to see you haven’t changed, at least. Not sure what I’d think if Seattle spit you out an even bigger hipster than before.”

And even though it’s clear that Chloe _has_ changed in almost too many ways to count, Max can’t help but smile.

“Yeah,” she says. “You haven’t changed either, Chloe. Not at all.”

And Chloe smiles back, so wide and smug that her eyes almost close with the force of it all. Her teeth are covered in shades of syrup and bits of pancake, and the difference in the way Chloe looks and the way Chloe acts is so terribly mismatched and nostalgic that Max lets herself completely drown in that feeling. She finally breaks and she finally laughs. From the heart. Because even after everything, Chloe is still Chloe. Her hair is shorter, her voice is deeper, and she looks like she’s lived through twice as many lifetimes as Max, but she’s still Chloe.

Even if she‘s someone else’s Chloe now.

~*~

Max’s eyes follow the path of marker scribbled along the inside of the truck. Phrases and quotes that must be important to Chloe cover nearly every inch, like some sort of angry tapestry of thoughts. They’re scattered between drawings and stickers and a strange feeling that Max isn’t sure how to describe beyond that it’s proof Chloe is still here, still alive, still fighting against anyone and anything and everything that has a problem with her. Just like she always has. It all fits so perfectly inside of the rusted-out shell of a frame and the mismatched and fading paint job that the entire thing leaves Max just short of breathless. “This truck is _totally_ you, Chloe.”

“Hell yeah it is,” Chloe lets out a quiet chuckle, nothing more than a small shake of her shoulders. The whole truck gives a shake in response when Chloe pats at her door like a proud older sister, “You should’ve seen it before I fixed it up.”

Max smiles when Chloe glances over, content to just sit and listen.

“Honestly if it wasn’t for Rachel, I probably wouldn’t have bothered,” her smile grows a bit wistful, and she leans into the door, head in her hand. “She’s always been like that.”

A laugh bubbles out of Max’s chest. “So I’m learning. Are you two… you know?”

As the words pass her lips, Max realizes she isn’t entirely sure what she means to ask. Are you two friends? Are you dating? Are you ‘the other girl’ that Victoria mentioned?

Something in Chloe’s expression twitches when Max asks. The smile on her lips doesn’t fade, but she also doesn’t answer right away. She keeps her eyes on the road and she keeps her mouth shut for so long that Max thinks she might have just opted to ignore the question entirely.

“Something like that.” is all she says, minutes later. Quieter and calmer than before. The air feels suddenly heavier.

“Sorry. It’s not really my business”

“Nah, it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Chloe shoots another toothy grin her way, eyes still on the road. “We’re gonna leave Arcadia together. Make sure this shit pit stays in the rear-view mirror for the rest of our lives.”

The answer hits Max in waves.

It starts with her throat going dry; with her heart hurting in a way she wasn’t entirely expecting. To watch Chloe slam face-first back into her life only to learn that she’s already on her way out? It’s the least she deserves, especially given that she hasn’t even bothered to apologize, but it still hurts. Maybe Chloe is only being nice because she knows she’ll be gone before long.

It starts with her throat going dry, and it ends with her teeth clamping down on her bottom lip hard enough to break skin.

“So how about you? How’d you end up with a Rachel shaped gremlin in your life?”

“Ah,” Max jolts in her seat. She swipes her tongue along her lips to clear away the blood. There’s no reason to double check, she knows it’s there. It stings and it tastes like metal. Max knows it’s there. “She, helped me out of – I mean, she helped me get away from an awkward… thing, when I first got to Blackwell. Some guy. He saw how nervous I was and wouldn’t, uh – wouldn’t leave me alone. She does that a lot. I’m really bad at dealing with it on my own.”

Max thinks as she lets loose that last detail, about the days when Chloe did that exact same thing. It was bullies then; bullies and boys who thought girls had cooties and making fun of them was the only cure in the world. But the sentiment always, always felt exactly the same. The same with Chloe and the same with Rachel. It’s a sentiment she’s never felt comfortable naming, even when it sits on the edge of her tongue, ready to jump out.

“Hm,” Chloe hums, still looking straight ahead. She looks so thoughtful that Max wonders whether she might be remembering the same thing; wonders if she ever _felt_ the same thing.

“She’s been super amazing. She just… showed up one day and decided she was taking care of me. I used to wonder why, but that turned out to be an easy way to drive myself crazy.”

Chloe barks out a laugh, then, something real, and big, and bursting out from the depths of her lungs. “Yeah. That’s Rachel. Storms into your life, carves out a corner for herself, and refuses to leave,” and this time, when she tilts her head toward Max, she lets her eyes drift away from the road. “Not that you’d ever want her to.”

Max laughs a little. At the look on Chloe’s face. At how easy it is to think _you’re like that too, Chloe_.

And it almost feels like it would be satisfying to leave things there. It would be so easy to keep sitting together in Chloe’s truck like they’re holding hands on the edge of a cliff, staring down at the gap in the rocks below and deciding that leaping is too much for today. It would be so easy to put off the conversation that Max knows they need to have and treat today as nothing more than a confusing whirlwind of a coincidence. She could so easily sit here next to Chloe, surrounded by Chloe, and watch as the sunset filters lower and lower into the pine trees around them.

“Ahhh fuck, no, we’re not doing this. Okay,” Chloe sighs. She grips the steering wheel just a bit tighter, and Max wonders, not for the first time today, whether everyone can read her thoughts. “I should probably get this off my chest before we get your little ass back to Blackwell.”

“My ass isn’t little…” Max grumbles, halfhearted and more on reflex than anything. It’s just so easy to talk without thinking when Chloe is involved.

When she looks, Chloe is staring at her with a quirked eyebrow and the urge to reach over and ruffle her hair written clear across her face. “ _Uh huh_. Anyway.” A smirk twitches at the corner of her mouth as her eyes fall back to the road. “Can’t imagine why else Rachel would’ve sprung this on us. She probably figured we’d never have this conversation without her help… God, what a fuckin’ goblin.”

Max watches, confused. She waits as Chloe tries to work through whatever she’s thinking until it finally escapes in a frustrated groan.

“I kind of hate you,” she says. “A little bit. I can’t not. Just – just not in the way you’re thinking.”

She takes another moment to gather the rest of her thoughts, and Max’s heart drops to the pit of her chest as she waits, rattling against her ribs and shaking up her breath the entire way down.

“It used to be because you left… and, dad, and… I uh, got over that. Mostly. Thanks to Rachel. Don’t think I ever would have if it wasn’t for her,” Chloe sighs, her hands squeezing at the steering wheel. On and off with the rhythm of her words. “Now though, I don’t know. Seeing you back here is like… you were _gone._ You made it out, you know? You had your chance at leaving, and you took it, and I think no matter how… insanely, _incredibly_ mad I was at you for that, I was also hella jealous.”

“Chloe it’s not like it was my choice to – ”

“No. Max. Don’t. If you don’t let me say this now it’s gonna end in a whole lot of yelling. You don’t deserve that. I’m maturing, and all that shit.”

She nods. “…Sorry.”

Chloe nods back, and her grip loosens. Barely, but enough that Max can feel some of the tension start to leave the air. “Right. So. You were uh, you were gone. And, even if you came back because you wanted a good school on your record, I kind of hate you for throwing away your chance at _staying_ gone.”

One of Chloe’s legs starts bouncing against the floor of the truck, trying in vain to fill the space with more noise. She shakes her head, once, twice, and then pulls the truck over onto the side of the road, patting at her pockets once they finally lurch to a stop. “It’s like, I look at that, and… if even _you_ can’t do it, what hope do I have of escaping this hellhole, you know?”

Max isn’t sure how to answer that. She isn’t sure how to answer Chloe grunting in frustration at the state of her pockets, and she definitely isn’t sure how to answer Chloe reaching suddenly for the glove compartment, so she stays quiet through it all.

“All that said, you’re still Max. I’m still Chloe,” Chloe adds, leaning over so far that she’s practically laying in Max’s lap as she rifles through her things. Eventually, she pulls away with a lighter and cigarette, settling her head a bit more securely onto Max’s thighs. She stays like that, giving herself time to light it and take a single, slow drag.

An urge to wind her fingers into Chloe’s hair washes over Max, but this isn’t _her_ Chloe anymore, she knows. Instead, she keeps her hands perfectly still until Chloe is climbing back into her own seat.

“You’re still Max. I missed the hell outta you.”

“…I missed you too, Chloe. Even if I – ”

Chloe waves a hand in the air before Max can finish, smiling her brightest smile yet. “No no, enough of this mushy feelings bullshit. You’re back and we can hang out again. That’s what’s important, yeah?”

As happy as that smile is though, Max can see the nerves sitting just at the edges. The worry that maybe it’s not really what Max wants.

As if this new Chloe has any business looking that nervous when Max is capable of holding enough of that feeling for the both of them. Honestly, after today, she probably already is. But Chloe seems so preoccupied with shoving her own nerves down that she doesn’t realize she’s spilled ash on herself until it starts to burn.

Max laughs, a quiet little puff of air, as Chloe scrambles to brush it to the floor.

“Yeah. That’s what’s important.”

~*~

A girl steps onto the beach.

It always feels strange, to her, at this time of day. Just after sunset, when there’s still enough light to see but the sun and the people are already long gone. Something about the atmosphere; something in the air; just _something_ , always feels vaguely dangerous and out of place. Like an empty parking lot. Or that one stairwell next to Max’s dorm. Or the lighting section at Home Depot.

Then again, maybe it’s just the piece of shit RV making her feel that way.

She walks around to the other side.

Something huge crashes into her stomach, knocking her straight off her feet.

A man laughs in a disgusting voice from only a few feet away. Too scratchy. Too wet. He’s definitely had too much to drink today. Idiot.

“I was in the middle of something important, you know,” she says to the man, sitting relaxed in his flowery lawn chair. But there’s no bite behind the words. It is, admittedly, a little difficult to sound angry when you’ve been knocked on your ass by a huge dog that abandoned his dinner just to say hello. Absentmindedly petting the dog behind the ears probably isn’t helping things either.

“Who says this isn’t?” the man grins back in that way of his, smug and knowing and innocent all at once. He’s like a giant kid, really. Even with all that gravel in his voice. And the beard. And the tattoos. And the knives. God, he’s like a child’s idea of an adult.

She glares at him.

“Alright, alright, fine. I’m _sorry,_ ” he throws his hands up in surrender and shrugs her look off with a laugh before downing the rest of his beer. “I doubt whatever it was is going to fall apart without you.”

She thinks about the look of fear on Max’s face. The way she recoiled so far it looked like she wanted to escape her body. Max has never looked that scared of her before today. Never.

But… he’s right. She might’ve left Chloe and Max alone with nothing but five years of baggage and some diner food between them, but they… they both feel so much, and they do it in the exact same ways, and if _anyone_ can find a way to make the best of Rachel’s latest fuck up, it’s those two. Still. He doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing he’s right. That isn’t what this is. That isn’t what they are. She comes to _him_. He doesn’t get to ask.

So Rachel fires back with a shrug of her own, slow and smooth as she turns to look further down the beach. The dog takes his chance and licks at her cheek. “You never know. It might.”

“Well it’s not like you had to leave for my sake, you know that,” The man says, and for a moment Rachel even thinks about believing him. But they both know it isn’t the truth.

No matter how sour and stale that feeling sits in Rachel’s stomach, she comes running every time he says he needs her. He would never get angry if she said no, but the fact that she doesn’t even remember when it _was_ that she lost control in the first place makes the whole thing feel so much worse. That isn’t supposed to be what this is. That isn’t supposed to be what they are.

She meets his eyes again. She doesn’t stop petting the dog. “ _Frank._ ”

He’s still smiling that awful smile even when he angles his head toward the RV. “Just thought you might want to try out some of the new stock before all your buddies buy it up.”

When Rachel sighs, the dog pulls away, scrambling to find his footing in the sand. He whines like he knows Rachel wants to leave.

But she doesn’t stop staring at Frank. Until she does.

And she smiles.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No, but really! Fuckin’ look at you, dude! You’re like what cute wishes it could be when it grows up.”
> 
> “Mhm, she’s perfect,” Rachel chimes in, locked up in one of Chloe’s arms. And she even winks when Max meets her eyes. It’s enough to have Max short circuiting, blushing and going quiet; tuning out of the conversation in some instinctual need for self-preservation.

Max is shuffling through her newest stack of photos when Rachel decides to invite herself in. She’s lying on the floor with her legs propped against her bed. Rachel doesn’t bother to knock, but Max also doesn’t bother to look. She doesn’t need to to know that it’s her.

It’s in the way she quietly pushes the door closed and pauses, just barely, to take in Max’s photo wall. As if the action; as if searching for something new; something familiar; something different, is part of some ritual that only she’s aware of. It’s in the way she sighs when she finishes, like she’s recovered important something in herself having taken that time. In the way she flicks off the light switch so that there’s nothing left but the paper lanterns framing those pictures, and the orange glow of the sunset spilling in through the windows. The way she glides over to the foot of the bed, letting a gentle hand come to rest on Max’s ankle in time with the dip of the mattress.

Not that anyone else would think to barge in unannounced, but still. Max knows that it’s her.

When Rachel’s fingers start moving, her nails scraping up and down that sliver of bare skin, Max slowly reaches to set aside her photos. She sees Rachel watching her, eyes sleepy and lidded, warm with something she can’t quite place.

“Hey there, you,” Rachel says, an easy smile spreading over her lips. Her gaze drifts over to Max’s messy picture stack. “Everything turn out okay, Mad Max?”

For a split second, lost in in the hazel of Rachel’s eyes, Max wonders if she means yesterday. Whether she’s asking about the… _thing_ , with Chloe. And her leaving. And if Max is okay. Only, then she remembers the pictures. Right. Of course.

“Oh. Yeah. Not – not sure I want to use any of these for class,” Max coughs. She can’t quite help slipping on a grin in embarrassment. “But, yeah. Everything’s… everything’s okay.”

“Good,” Rachel winks, still scratching idly at Max’s ankle.

Max nods slowly, letting her eyes drop closed and lifting an arm to point in the general direction of her desk. “Mhm. I’ve already got something ready to turn in, but I figured I’d keep trying anyway. Just like, in case something new caught my attention.”

“A perfectionist after my own heart, Miss Caulfield,” Rachel teases, squeezing gently at Max’s leg.

It pulls a laugh from Max’s chest. Small and breathy and barely a few exhales. Her eyes slide back open when she’s done, and she lets herself really look up at Rachel, then. At the way the sunlight drapes across her like a blanket, and the lights behind line her every detail in something just as soft. Just as perfect. Between that and the matching smile sitting on Rachel’s lips, Max can’t help wishing her camera was still in reach. Because, even if it’s something Max sees all the time: Rachel relaxed, happy, looking at her with a feeling she doubts she’ll ever be able to describe, something about that look feels different today. Something about how it holds her in place just a little more softly, and makes her breath catch in her throat just a little more harshly.

Today, that mysterious, secretive warmth fills up every corner, apparently not content to sit on the fringes like it always has. So Max lays there, arms sprawled out toward the opposite wall and her legs still slack under Rachel’s touch, helplessly searching for its name.

Barely half a minute passes before the little voice in the back of her mind speaks up and reminds her that she’s staring. At Rachel Amber.

“So uh,” Max says suddenly. A bit too loud. Hoping it might somehow cover up the rush of heat spreading over her face as she scrambles to join Rachel on the bed. “What – um, did you want something?”

“Oh! Right. Sorry, I was just enjoying the view,” Rachel teases. Or at least, Max thinks she might be. But there’s a sparkle in the corners of Rachel’s eyes as she tucks herself closer to Max’s side that makes Max wonder if she really, genuinely forgot why she came here. The confusion must show on her face, because Rachel follows up without missing a beat. “A cute girl lying on her back for me? What’s not to like?”

Unsure as ever about how to reply to Rachel’s flirting, Max coughs out another flustered laugh. Because she’s just like that. She doesn’t mean it. She couldn’t. Not for someone like Max.

It’s that final thought that conjures up a memory of Chloe; of the vague, poorly veiled hurt in her voice as she explained they were _something like that_ and sends it pulsing through Max’s veins like ice water. Stomps that embarrassment into nothing. She’ll worry about the ‘cute’ comment later.

Rachel chuckles softly as she watches Max squirm and pushes ahead. Hopefully she isn’t reading too much into that reaction. “Chloe’s been blowing up my phone all day. I take it you two managed to make up yesterday?”

Damn it.

“Ah. Yeah. Mine too, actually.”

Max tries to perk up at the mention of Chloe, and wishes vaguely she’d been given an easier opportunity to ask Rachel what happened back at the Two Whales. What she has feels like the sort of thing Rachel would brush off with one of those well-practiced smiles of hers. The kind that seem to grow more and more cracks along the edges whenever she puts them on, lately. Cracks that no one else seems to notice. So instead, Max pulls out her phone and shoves that thought to the side. Just for now. She’ll get a chance to ask later. Definitely.

Thankfully, her message app is already open. Needing to explain why her background is a picture of her and Chloe dressed as pirates, still, after all these years, would be one embarrassment too many. She isn’t terribly interested in seeing how red she can turn today.

**max**

**spidermax**

**batmax**

**megamax!**

**cmon nerd answer me that s the only superheroes i know**

**save me from work!!!**

“I think she’s happy,” Max says, halfway through tapping out a reply. She’s still reeling just a bit at how easy it’s been to pick things back up with Chloe. Like they were never dropped at all.

**Megaman isn’t a superhero. xoxo**

“Mmh. Happier than I’ve seen her in a long time,” Rachel hums. She’s leaning over to rest her head on Max’s shoulder just as Chloe’s string of replies make one last, valiant effort for attention before being silenced forever in Max’s pocket. “Are you, though? Happy?”

Max follows her gaze across the room. To her guitar still sitting untouched in the corner, to the posters and the couch, and the stacks upon stacks of old photos. And she considers the question for a beat too long, only moving to speak when Rachel angles her head just enough for a quick puff of breath to ghost across the front of her throat. Max isn’t really sure there’s a correct answer. She _is_ sure that breath gave her a flash of goosebumps, though. That, and an urge to tremble that she’s endlessly thankful for being able to suppress. “I’m… It’s nice, knowing Chloe’s still Chloe. But I think I could’ve done without the whole… start… of that.”

Rachel almost seems to purr in reply. Her hair tickles just above Max’s collarbone.

Deep breaths.

“Right. I owe you an apology, Max. From the way Chlo talks about you, I thought you’d be just as crazy about seeing her.”

“I was!” Max blurts, just barely managing to keep from shaking Rachel away when she turns to look. “I – I _am_. But. There’s…”

She sighs and lets out a squeaky little grumble in frustration. If only she could explain that Rachel being Rachel, and touching and laughing and… that… scratchy thing with her voice… is making it a little bit too hard to find the right words, right now.

Rachel squeezes comfortingly at her hand like she understands anyway. “Okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry for keeping her a secret from you. I won’t pry.”

Still at a loss for words, Max settles for a nod. And this time, when Rachel nuzzles closer, holds her tighter, it at least pushes her in the right direction. Helps Max find her way back to those words. Her thoughts start to make sense again.

“I’m sorry for leaving you alone, too, Max. I saw how scared you were and everything. That was shitty of me.”

And that feels like the chance Max has been waiting for. It feels like Rachel inviting her to ask. But… she can’t. She can’t ask whether Rachel really had family trouble. She can’t ask why Rachel would lie, or why Chloe would back up that lie, or even why they both think Max needs to be shielded from whatever was really happening. Because, like with Chloe, she knows it isn’t her place. Unlike with Chloe, it never _was_ with her and Rachel. So she lets it go. Again. For good this time. She lets that chance drift away on a sigh, and settles for letting Rachel have this moment. Letting Rachel have one more thing for herself in return for everything that she’s done for Max. She deserves that much. Max knows she does.

“It’s okay,” she mumbles, nudging back in Rachel’s direction. “You had an emergency. Besides, Chloe said you’d be okay when I asked, and things… got easier. From there. So, you know, thanks. For – for giving me that push. I really think I might have ignored her forever if it wasn’t for you.”

However Max expected Rachel to react, the strange mixture of worry and sadness, maybe even _guilt_ on her face certainly isn’t it.

“Did Chloe tell you what I was…?”

“…No? Oh! No! No,” Max lifts her hands into the air like a shield. She thinks for a second that maybe it all melts away; that the look on Rachel’s face snaps to confusion. But it’s hard to tell in the moment when all she can manage to do is keep rambling on. “Sorry… I – I’m, no. I know that’s your business. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

That at least gets Rachel to meet her eyes. And she _snort_ s. Rachel’s laughing like Max said something even stupider than the thing she’s _pretty sure_ was the actual stupid thing, given the look Rachel just had on her face. “Well then. I guess that’s that! Are you still up for that party, Max? Let’s put this whole thing on pause, and I can tell you _all_ about my business some other time.”

Which feels like a confusing sentiment, but maybe that’s just her brain still rattling around in her skull after yesterday. Maybe Max just needs to learn to bounce back as quickly as Chloe and Rachel.

She opts to keep her mouth shut and nod – again – because really, how much worse could a party be than constantly embarrassing herself in front of Rachel? In her dorm? On her bed?

Jesus, Max, get it together. Head out of the gutter.

Maybe she needs that party after all. Or at the very least the fresh air that comes with it.

She thankfully gets the expected response. Rachel tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She smirks back at Max, small and lopsided and with her head angled just so. “In that case, how about we find you something cute to wear? I bet you’d look _fantastic_ in my clothes.”

When Rachel offers her hand, Max takes it without hesitation. She follows without a word.

~*~

In the end, Rachel has Max dressed in a simple denim jacket, pale green over the black and white ombre tee she was already wearing, and a slightly darker pair of jeans than her own. She even lent her a necklace for the night: some little blue gemstone with a feather that matches Rachel’s favorite earring tied off at the bottom. It’s nice in a way Max hadn’t really expected. She thought Rachel might ask her to try something flashier, something shorter. More Rachel than Max. But it’s her usual style. The sort of thing she would feel comfortable wearing any other day, just… more. Put together by someone who owns more than a handful of graphic tee shirts and some hoodies.

It helps her feel a little less out of place as Rachel’s car rolls to a stop in some corner of the beach that she’s never been all that familiar with. It helps her feel like she belongs when she steps outside to find Chloe leaning against the side of her truck, cigarette nearly falling out of her mouth with the smile that cracks across her face.

“Look at _you_ , Max,” Chloe bares her teeth in a puff of smoke as she pushes herself to her feet and ambles just a bit closer. She stubs her cigarette out on the side of the truck, staring at Max through hooded eyes and that same excited smirk as ever. “Like, damn! Rachel’s got you lookin’ like a hottie tonight.”

“Gay,” Rachel snorts, closing her car door and circling around to join them. The second she clears the hood of the car, Chloe throws a playful kick at Rachel’s shin, stirring up a chorus of squeaks and laughter as a soundtrack for their little fight.

And Max, still stuck on that look in Chloe’s eyes, stops and thinks for a moment.

Yesterday was surprising enough. She thought at the time it might have been because she was so confused in the midst of everything else happening. Because there were a _lot_ of things happening. Here, tonight, it hits her with a suddenly clarity that has been suspiciously absent from her life for the past two days, that _no_ actually, this is just what Chloe is like. Chloe is just like this now.

And Max doesn’t exactly hate it.

When Rachel puts a hand on her shoulder, she considers the possibility that it might be a chance to breathe. It might be Rachel helping, like she always does in situations like this.

Instead, she squeezes at Max’s arm and grins. “Can you believe it, Max? Our very best friend is some sort of _sexual deviant_.”

“This _‘deviant’_ has got a distinct memory of some nights last week alone that say you’re no better.”

“A terrible, horrible villain!” Rachel cries, just barely managing to stifle down another bout of giggles as Chloe lunges at her again.

“O – okay…” Max mumbles through an exhale. She tries looking off to the side. Because really, what else is there, at this point? What else is she supposed to do when girls like Chloe and Rachel flirt with her as if she’s even remotely in their league?

“No, but really! Fuckin’ look at you, dude! You’re like what cute wishes it could be when it grows up.”

“Mhm, she’s perfect,” Rachel chimes in, locked up in one of Chloe’s arms. She even winks when Max meets her eyes. It’s enough to have Max short circuiting, blushing and going quiet; tuning out of the conversation in some instinctual need for self-preservation. It turns out, this is what else there is.

“I don’t know about _that._ ” Is Chloe’s response, once she’s finally freed Rachel to latch onto Max all over again. Max can hear the mischief in her voice still growing with every new word, like she’s not really saying the things she’s saying as they take off together for the beach. “She seemed perfectly content to let me suffer at work today. Both of you fuckers, actually.”

“Please, you know you only ever get two or three customers in the middle of the day.” Rachel stares up at Chloe then, waiting in silence until she returns the look. When she does, Rachel leans over and bumps Chloe in the shoulder gently, knocking them both out of step.

“There was a cop! I had to serve a cop!”

“Officer Berry is hardly a cop, Chloe. He barely knows how to work his radio.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Rach,” Chloe scoffs. “Showed up during my break and everything.”

“The horror. Having to _serve food_ to a _customer_.”

“I’m saying! You two just let it happen!”

Max laughs. On accident at first – it just sort of slips out – but she’s holding a hand in front of her mouth to try and cover the noise before long. Listening to the two of them bicker helps, surprisingly.

It helps to listen to Chloe and Rachel act like everything is normal; to see them stopping, turning, and smiling at Max’s reaction like nothing else matters. It helps so much that by the time they’ve nearly reached the bonfire, the tinny music blaring out of some set of speakers that Max can’t see, the smell of burning wood and smoke surrounding them further with every new step, Max is truly relaxed and finally breathing easy.

There are more people on the beach than Max really expected after Rachel’s invitation. A _lot_ more. But at the same time, what little she knows about Dana has Max doubting she would ever be satisfied with “only a few” friends.

Besides, she’s got Chloe. She’s got Rachel. She’s got this.

Some strangers come up to greet them, and they’re nice enough when the focus inevitably falls on her. Max even recognizes a few, Stella from photography class, Justin and his taller friend from… well, the constant smell of weed in the halls. There are even a few classmates she hadn’t expected to see scattered through the crowd, but mostly its people she’s never met, never seen. People who look just like Chloe and Rachel, all piercings and dyed hair and that constant sense of ease cloaking their every move.

“Drinks?” Chloe asks, veering off for the cooler and not even bothering to wait for answers.

Her sudden absence has Max drifting closer and closer to Rachel. She doesn’t really realize until she bumps into Rachel’s shoulder and gets a hand at her waist for the trouble. It takes a minute or two for Chloe to scramble her way back, she’s cradling three beers to her chest with one hand and trying to light a new cigarette with her other.

“Christ, Chlo…” Rachel sighs and pulls away at a run to stop Chloe before she gets a chance to make a mess of herself.

Max watches as Rachel plucks the cigarette from Chloe’s mouth, lights it, and steals the first drag. She murmurs something into Chloe’s ear as she hands it back, and it has Chloe snickering like a kid, checking her with a hip after they’re back to walking.

“Here you go,” Chloe smiles, all innocence and joy as she hands off the last of the drinks to Max.

A beat passes before Max remembers to reach up and take it.

She watches, so entranced by the way Chloe looks that she catches a detail she was probably meant to miss. Max sees the moment when Chloe’s eyes flit just past her head in that pause. And even though every instinct in her body screams to ignore the flinch Chloe tries to suppress, she can’t quite stop her body from turning around anyway. She isn’t entirely sure what she’s looking for though, and all she ends up finding is a dark-haired girl in an oversized shirt and skinny jeans staring from some distance away. The girl looks frozen in her tracks until she makes eye contact with Max. She tenses then, purses her lips, seeming to consider something for a moment, before shrugging to herself and walking away.

Okay.

Weird.

“Did you want to talk to her, Chl – ”

“ _No._ ”

So that’s that, then.

Max blinks. And then she realizes Chloe is still holding out her drink in offering, fingertips dripping water everywhere and already pink from the cold. So Max snatches it up before she can say something else stupid like _I don’t drink actually_ , and settles for holding the can tight in her hands. Letting the cold seep into _her_ skin instead.

At least, that was the plan.

But then Chloe steps just a bit too close and rests her hand on Max’s waist, just like Rachel always does and Chloe never has, and the cold feels suddenly distant. It burns hotter when Chloe does it. The touch lingers even longer after the fact whenever she shifts enough for her fingers to move or when she absentmindedly scratches at the spot. Pressure shifting left and right, leaving little trails of warmth already well on their way to searing themselves into her memory forever.

Max wants to know who that girl was. Or why she put Chloe so on edge.

She means to ask. Or apologize for asking. But Chloe’s attention is already elsewhere, watching Rachel wave down Dana and… Juliet, if Max remembers her name correctly. Dana takes off at a jog when she sees, and she scoops Rachel off her feet and into a hug and tries to hold a conversation with Max all at once. All while her friend trails slowly – happily – behind.

Chloe’s grip on Max’s waist grows just a bit tighter. Urges her just a bit closer.

“Max!” Dana cries, setting a nearly just as cheerful Rachel back onto the ground. She keeps her arm around Rachel’s shoulder, refusing to let the hug end. “I’m so glad you’re here, I’ve been trying to get Rach to bring you to one of these things for _ever_.”

Which is a bit of a surprise. But hey, you know what? That’s been Max’s life for the last whole-lot-of hours. And even if she can’t quite bounce back as quickly as she’d like, she’s getting pretty good at rolling with it here, now, in night number two, thank you very much.

Dana’s eyes fall heavy on Chloe, next.

“Hey to you too, Chloe,” she purrs, and Max only just barely catches the way her voice dips lower when she speaks, because she’s back to her usual bubbly self in an instant. “Let me know if you need _anything_ , Max. I mean it.”

“Uh, yeah.” Max tries. Her throat is oddly dry. “Yeah definitely.”

“Cool! Anyway, do you two mind if I borrow Rachel for a second? I’m in the mood to _dance_ , and Jules already has to get going. Important school paper business.”

“…On a Saturday night?” Chloe asks.

All she gets is a shrug, like Juliet knows exactly how flimsy the excuse is and still does not care all.

And Rachel meets Max’s gaze then, hopeful in a way that would look almost helpless on anyone else’s face. “Max?”

Max sees the unasked questions in her eyes. The _do you want to come too,_ and the _I’d love it so much if you did._

She doesn’t. She can’t dance. This was supposed to be an escape from the last bout of horribly embarrassing moments. Thankfully though, Max isn’t the only one who knows how to listen without hearing.

“Okay then.” Rachel lets out a little wry smile and brushes a hand along Max’s arm, letting her fingers settle against the backs of her wrists. “Will you be okay? Chloe’s still here for you, right?”

She is. At least there’s that. “I will be. Promise.”

“Are you _sure_?” Rachel asks again, pressing a little harder, no doubt to make sure Max isn’t lying. To let her know she’s willing to stay if it’s something Max needs. Rachel’s nails trace lightly back up her arm to emphasize that she means it. No more repeats of yesterday.

“It’s okay, Rachel. I’ll be fine.”

And Max means it.

Once they’re alone, Chloe finally loosens her grip; she lets her hand slide to the small of Max’s back and spreads her palm wide, flattens it out against the spot. And she’s leaning down, whispering into Max’s ear in a way that’s probably meant purely to keep her next words private, but really only manages to make Max’s spine straighten all the way out and send chills to every corner of her body.

“Let’s head somewhere a bit quieter.” Chloe hums. “Got something I need to tell you.”

It’s not much of a hike before Chloe decides on a spot. They end up just past the fringes of light, somewhere closer to the water. Not near enough for the tide to reach them, but they have their privacy.

Chloe feels like she’s wound up tight the entire short walk over, like she’s about to burst and take Max with her. But in the end that feeling fizzles to nothing as quickly as if it _was_ nothing. It turns out she only wanted to tease. To make fun of Max a little bit more for ignoring her texts. To talk back and forth like they used to. She ruffles Max’s hair as they shove each other back and forth, reminiscing on the past. Remembering inside jokes and loud, excited nights in Chloe’s backyard that ended not too differently from this. She even pulls Max close during a long stretch of quiet. Tucks her head into the crook of her shoulder and drapes an arm around her neck.

They watch the waves together.

Chloe smells warm. Like smoke. Like vague, barely focused memories of summer nights and slumber parties in Chloe’s bed and leftover diner food the next morning.

Max closes her eyes and smiles against it all.

“Should take a picture,” Chloe breathes, confident, like it’s something Max should have thought up first. She’s leaning over to try and find Max’s camera bag as she talks, pressing her chest into Max’s side – and wow those are Chloe’s boobs, and _hello_ Max, focus please – deliberately looking everywhere other than the place it actually is: still strapped around Max’s shoulder. “I can’t believe I’m the one who’s gotta bring that up. Aren’t you going to school for this shit?”

And you know what? She _should_ take a picture. Max _wants_ to take pictures. Of Chloe. Of everyone. Commemorate one of the first truly New Max moments of her life.

“Are you sure?” Max asks, mostly to check that she isn’t setting herself up for another round of teasing.

Chloe leans over further then, grinning wide and still pawing for the space at Max’s side. “Course. You Blackwell kids are fuckin’ everywhere in this town, no one’s gonna start staring just because you’re lugging around that big fancy camera, Maximus. Now c’mon, where is that thing?”

It takes almost everything in Max not to break out into giggles as Chloe presses her entire weight into Max.

She uses what’s left to reach for her camera.

And at first, Chloe stays the sole focus of her pictures. Chloe dimly glowing in the distant light of the fire. Laughing. Smiling. Drinking. Smoking. In one shot, one that Max knows she’s going to keep for herself the second she takes it, Chloe is beaming. Chloe is shadow. Out of focus and framed by the bonfire and the glow and the smoke of her newest cigarette so that the entire thing feels like a reflection of a dream. Like watching the memory of a memory through someone else’s eyes.

It’s going straight on the photo wall. Right above her bed. Right in the center.

Somehow though, somewhere along the way, after Chloe has stumbled back to her feet and pushed Max along with an _alright, alright, Caulfield, that’s enough of me_ and a gentle nudge on the back of the arm, Max moves on to other subjects. The crowd from a distance; Chloe again, when she lets her attention drift enough that Max doesn’t get caught; the waves in the moonlight. Chloe follows along the entire time, apparently content to watch and offer her opinion whenever Max asks and _especially_ when she doesn’t. It isn’t until they’ve made their way a few more parking spaces down, far enough from the fire that Max’s efforts to capture anything else end in useless struggle, that their little adventure comes to a stop.

“Mh, Chloe, we can head back. I think I got a little carried away,” she hums softly, turning just in time to see Chloe ripping the cigarette from her mouth and pushing a harsh burst of smoke through her nostrils as she stomps back toward the fire. More specifically, Max realizes, toward that girl from earlier. The one with the legs and the pout.

“…Chloe?” The name catches in her throat, and she’s shoving her camera into her bag as quickly and safely as she can, already rushing to catch up.

“I wouldn’t.” Comes a voice from up toward the parking lot.

It takes a bit of looking, but Max finally finds the source: A lone blonde head of hair nursing a bottle of beer, tucked away into the bed of a truck. It takes slightly less time for her to place why that hair looks so familiar: Victoria’s friend.

Max doesn’t know why she listens, but she does. She stops walking.

“You’re Rachel’s new girl,” the friend says, light and innocent. Gesturing for Max to come closer. She takes another drink. “Max, right?”

“Sorry.” Max doesn’t know why she answers. She knows even less about why she walks toward the truck. “I uh… don’t know your name.”

The girl pats at the box of beer she’s using as an armrest. This time though, Max stays put.

“Taylor. I’m Victoria’s,” she says with a tired smirk, trailing off and waving a lazy hand in the air like she means to knock the right words out of the sky and into place. “Mmmh… let’s say I’m her chauffeur tonight.”

“Oh. I’m – I’m sorry, I need to – Chloe,” Max stutters. But Chloe is already long gone when she looks.

“Nooo,” Taylor laughs, and it’s a strangely pleasant noise given the situation and the few things Max knows about her. Maybe that’s why she stays tethered to the spot, breathing the girl in. The bangs and the beer and all that bare skin. She’s wearing a tank top and shorts. She must be _freezing_. Max’s eyes fall to the half-moon necklace shining in the… moonlight, and all she can think is that this girl looks like the opposite of Victoria in every way. She’s so… relaxed. Pretty. Without any of that same effort.

“Stay,” Taylor tries again. “I won’t bite. Besides, you _really_ do not want to get yourself involved in that.”

Max’s fists clench at her sides when she meets Taylor’s eyes, defensive and swimming with suspicion. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Hm,” Taylor shrugs, like she knows the answer but doesn’t want to give away her sense of mystery. Like she’s enjoying Max’s attention and doesn’t want to lose it so soon. It’s a look Max is becoming increasingly familiar with lately. “So how about it? Keep me company?”

Max doesn’t know why she agrees. But she does. She climbs up and settles into the spot at Taylor’s side, the box between them and the truck’s speakers at their backs, pumping out the faint beat to a pop song Max doesn’t recognize.

“Drink?” Taylor asks, leaning forward to dig out another from the box.

Max silently shakes her head when Taylor glances up from under her bangs.

“Oh,” Taylor smiles, surprised and genuine and maybe a little satisfied. And it hits every one of those same, friendly notes as her laugh. “Alright then, Max.”

~*~

Taylor doesn’t answer Max’s question. Not even after they’ve been together and talking for so long that it’s more than a little suspicious for Chloe to still be gone.

It’s… fine, Max supposes. Chloe doesn’t owe her any answers, and Rachel doesn’t owe her any answers, and Taylor _definitely_ owes her even less than either of them, but that doesn’t make her want to search them out any less.

And it isn’t as if Taylor’s company is unwelcome. She’s nice. And more importantly, she might’ve been onto something, inviting Max to sit with her and forget about everything else. After her life suddenly kicked itself into overdrive yesterday, it’s what she’s needed in a way that’s so specific, Max can’t help thinking Taylor might have experience in needing that very same thing.

Maybe that’s why Taylor spends so long asking about Max – the Max who exists separately from Rachel and Chloe – and Max’s friends, and how Max spends her time, laughing and smiling and groaning along with what little Max feels comfortable giving away. At one point, after his name comes up, Taylor takes them off on a vague, emotionally charged tangent about Warren and how he keeps hurting an old friend of hers. She doesn’t say who, but then, Max doesn’t ask. The way Taylor talks about that friend makes asking feel disrespectful for reasons Max can’t really pin down. There’s unpleasant history there, is just about all Max can put together.

Besides, the way she’s so effortlessly managed to get them both talking about nothing at all has Max wondering if maybe Taylor doesn’t have anything to say about Rachel or Chloe after all. Even with how much she seems to know about everyone _else_ at Blackwell.

Then again, maybe she does.

Maybe she steers the conversation toward Victoria for exactly that reason.

“So, did Vic ever bother to explain why she cornered you, yesterday?” Taylor asks, letting one of her arms slide off the side of the truck. She watches her own hand, slowly turning it over and flexing her fingers once, twice.

Max tries clearing her throat. She tries to sit a little straighter. This is _sort of_ what she wanted. Right? “Uh, no. She was just… _there_. And angry. Like she usually is around me.”

Taylor chuckles at that. She pulls her arm back into her lap and lets her head roll lazily against the window until she’s looking Max in the eyes, sharp and piercing despite her sleepy, fluid movements.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” she murmurs, looking more than a little wistful in the glow of the stars and the moon. “She can be sort of a lot sometimes. She’s, like, I know you have no reason to believe me here, but she _means_ well. And she cares more than anyone will ever know, but she also _really_ sucks at feelings. That whole having them and expressing them thing.”

And Max can’t help it. She laughs too, small and bubbly and light. She laughs at the symmetry of that. At the symmetry of the two of them. Maybe she finally understands why Taylor wanted to talk after all.

“Victoria is like,” Taylor pauses then, her eyes distant as she turns back to the beach and takes another slow sip of her beer. The same one she’s left mostly untouched, cradled in her hands ever since Max joined her. “She doesn’t feel things halfway, it’s just not in her. And I don’t think she’s ever bothered looking for an off switch for any part of herself, either. When she’s happy, she’s…” A grin twitches at the corners of Taylor’s lips, something she tries ducking her head to hide. “And when she’s angry, she’s _angry._ It’s why everyone thinks she’s such a bitch.”

The smile on Max’s lips doesn’t shrink for an instant.

She thinks about Chloe, back when the two of them were kids.

About Rachel, here and now in the present.

“Yeah,” she replies, because Max really does understand feeling that way about someone. Attracting that sort of intensity into her life is almost as familiar as breathing. Even back in Seattle, Max’s friends were always so much _more_ than her. “I think I know a couple of people like that, actually.”

Taylor closes her eyes then, and she breathes deep. “Mhm. And this is just me…” She stops again, looking down and giving her drink a quick shake. “About half a beer in, pretty confident my ass is frozen solid, and not sure whether I’m right, so... So like, believe me, don’t believe me, but I think you might be exactly what they’ve both been needing.”

“…Someone who’s really shy? And can’t keep up with either of them?”

Taylor laughs and looks back toward the fire. “No, someone stable. They could use that, I bet. Things have been _so_ much quieter around the dorms since Rachel scooped you up into her life.”

Max’s mouth works for a time, trying to manage even the tiniest answer. Trying to figure out what she could possibly have done for Rachel. Nothing happens.

She exhales hesitantly into the quiet instead, and just barely manages to mumble a reply to some unrelated part of that confession. “You _do_ look really cold…”

“Yes ma’am.” Taylor chuckles like Max just made a particularly funny joke. She stretches her legs out and lets that feeling seep into her voice, as well. “I’m also waaay too proud to go back to Vic’s car for more layers, so I’m doomed to suffer over here until she comes around. Thanks for taking my mind off of it.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t – ”

Taylor laughs again, a little bit louder this time. A little more genuine. “No really, I mean it. Thanks. You want to apologize for Victoria’s attitude like that’s not _her_ job, just like, talk to me again some time. You’re good company, Max.”

“…Sure.” Max nods. Because that does sound nice. And she does feel bad for keeping Taylor out in the cold.

“Actually, gimme your phone.” Taylor says, reaching over and wiggling her fingers. It takes Max more than a few blinks to realize what she’s asking and fumble the thing out of her pocket and into that waiting hand. Taylor taps something out on the screen at lightning speed and hands it back as soon as she’s done. “There. In case I’m ever not around.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Max stutters as she plucks her phone out of Taylor’s hand, and _Jesus_ that’s cold. That still feels like her fault, somehow.

But Taylor seems happy. So Max lets the thought fall away as they sit together in that quiet with nothing but the radio at their backs and the lazy waves of the ocean just ahead.

“Sweet-T where are you? I’m sorry about earlier, okay?” A voice filled with soft worries and lined with sharp edges comes yelling from further down the beach. “C’mon, I’m ready to go, that fucking gutter trash _slut_ ruined everything again.”

When Max looks, Taylor lets out a long-suffering sigh and slides her way out of the truck, biting down a frown as she goes.

“Over here, Vic!” she calls out, brushing herself off and pausing for a bit on the back of her shorts like she’s genuinely trying to confirm whether she turned to ice.

Victoria bursts out from between the cars with all the energy of an angry ghost. She’s mad, practically radiating little strands of smoke in the shape of _fuck you_ and _eat shit_ , just waiting for someone to speak up. But Taylor’s expression doesn’t falter as she welcomes Victoria over. Hands are on arms, whispers are traded, and shoulders lose their tension until finally a small something that Max might call a smile in any other situation, on any other face, twitches at Victoria’s lips. She might have even heard an apology.

“Anyway, Max,” Taylor turns to address her, and even though Victoria schools her expression back into something at least _vaguely_ resembling anger when she realizes they aren’t alone, it isn’t fast enough to go unnoticed. “About what I said earlier? Just call it a hunch from someone who’s got a little experience in that department.”

“Uh. Oh, right! Yeah. Of course.”

Max smiles and watches them go, even when Victoria turns to throw one last scowl over her shoulder.

She might not be very willing to believe that Victoria is a good person. Not with the history they share. But she can accept that Taylor is good for her, at least.

That much is easy.

Maybe, Max thinks, she can be good too.

~*~

Whoever owns the truck still shows absolutely zero signs of coming back by the time Max remembers to check her phone. There aren’t any new texts waiting for her, but then, tonight is still technically a party, even if it’s turned out as something else entirely for her. Maybe Rachel and Chloe just… forgot. She should go remind them, she decides. Go tell them she’s still here. Just in case.

So she makes her way back to her feet, stretches her limbs out and loops her camera bag back into place. Steels herself for diving back into the crowd. First though, the radio. Someone needs to turn that off. The door is unlocked anyway, and it’s probably the polite thing to do.

In the end though, they find her before she finds them.

Chloe’s voice cracks through her concentration and sends her leaping back in surprise as she makes her way back to the beach. “Jesus shit, _there_ you are, Max!”

“Wha,” is all she manages to get out before Rachel is there, practically tackling her back into the sand. She smells like too much beer and the still lingering traces of her jasmine perfume, and she wraps as much of herself around as much of Max as she can.

“ _Mmmax_ ,” Rachel mumbles, squeezing Max tighter even as she pulls herself away to meet her eyes and smile. “Chloe scared me.”

A quick glance in Chloe’s direction only gives up some rolling eyes and an exhausted sigh.

“I might’ve… had a little run in with Victoria. A bit ago.”

Max’s heart hitches in her chest.

“Nearly punched her nose straight off her face, Chlo.” Rachel snickers.

And then a thought crosses her mind. What if Chloe was the one Victoria was yelling about, earlier? Why is she so stuck on these two?

“…Yeah. So. When she stormed off this way, I got hella worried. Rachel’s mentioned she gives you trouble.” Chloe rushes to clarify. She rubs a hand down her face to try and mask her worry. It almost looks like she’s forgotten how to breathe. “But then I couldn’t find you, and I went back to grab Rachel, and then _we_ couldn’t find you and… You could’ve texted me if you needed help, I didn’t mean to make you think I was pullin’ a vanishing act on you or anything.”

Trying to hide it doesn’t work, Max can still see every inch of how anxious Chloe is.

And more than that, _worse_ than that, Chloe seems entirely oblivious to the reasons why Max _couldn’t_ bring herself to do just that. Chloe’s attention was somewhere else. Chloe didn’t want her to follow. Chloe didn’t want her to know what was happening. No matter how much has changed, no matter how much distance they have between them, Max knows enough to recognize that Chloe’s body language when she’s trying to hide is still the same as ever.

The evidence is right there, clear as day in the fact that talking to that mystery girl nearly ended with her… punching out the… the girlfriend? Girlfriend. Chloe nearly punched out the girlfriend of someone Max enjoyed talking to tonight.

“Gave me a panic attack, whispering about ‘Can’t find Max, where the hell is Max.’” Rachel slurs, squeezing Max’s arm as she does.

“It – I was fine, Chloe. I promise.” Max pushes ahead, and tries her hardest to ignore Rachel’s… everything, for the time being.  "Right after you ran off after that girl, I ran into someone else and we talked for… awhile”

“ _Talked_ , huh?” Rachel wiggles her eyebrows and leans forward enough to rest her head on Max’s shoulder, enough to circle her arms all the way around to Max’s other side. She brings a finger back to her lips almost as soon as she does. “Good for you, Max! Secret’s safe with us. Shhhh.”

“Rachel are you… is everything okay?” Max finally works up the strength to ask. She tries to pull away. Just a bit.

Rachel doesn’t let her, and she tugs herself back into Max’s arms, gestures vaguely toward some other empty end of the beach as soon as it happens. “…Long day. Want to forget that… Family. Thing.”

Chloe doesn’t look convinced. By that, or by Max’s answer. And despite knowing better, despite knowing that she doesn’t owe Chloe an answer, the concern in those eyes still manages to crumble her resolve to dust.

“It was Taylor,” She admits. “I was talking to Taylor. She’s… she’s really nice. I promise I’m okay.”

It seems like enough for Chloe. She nods hesitantly and sighs her stress out into the cool night air, trying to focus on some spot just beyond Max’s shoulder. And it is enough for Rachel, who’s cooing something that sounds an awful lot like A _www, Tay’s a sweetheart, I’m’nna thank her tomorrow_ into Max’s shirt. It has Rachel finally pulling away completely enough that she’s upright under her own balance. Even if she leaves a hand at Max’s hip when she asks whether they’re all up for a top-secret sneaking mission to Chloe’s house, her thumb rubbing soothing little circles into the patch of skin under Max’s shirt that she’s finally managed to reach.

“Sure, let’s – ” Chloe starts, before she pauses to think on something. “Actually no. Rach, you’re a god damn mess. I’m sober enough to get you two chuckleheads back to Blackwell, come on.”

Max isn’t sure why Chloe changes her mind. Only that she’d love the chance to see that house again.

A whine tears itself free from Rachel’s throat as she stumbles over, trips into Chloe, and drags Max with her. “Chlooeeee, we’ll be super _super_ quiet. The step ladder won’t know wh – _ow_!”

The rest of her promise is cut off when Chloe elbows her hard in the side. It takes a few seconds of scowling and glaring at each other before Rachel finally gives up. Before she slinks back over to Max, frustrated and absolutely silent.

Honestly, Max isn’t too sure about that one, either.

But she lets it be. She lets Chloe drive them all back to Blackwell without offering another word.

Max takes the middle seat. Mostly out of some desire to keep whatever that was from going any further. Though she’s not entirely positive it works, because she ends up the target of two incredibly confusing sources of attention the entire ride there. Chloe has her free arm thrown over Max’s shoulders so that she’s tucked away against her chest. Her thumb is painting little circles into Max’s collarbone, while Rachel is _still_ cuddling up to Max, finding new excuses to touch Max – fingers dancing up and down her arm, over the top of her thigh, and still, _still_ , across that little patch of skin just underneath her shirt – and to whisper things that Chloe can’t possibly hear. To make it impossible for Max to think about anything else.

One day. One day she’ll get used to this.

It’s a thought that she keeps with her as she makes her way across the courtyard and down the hall to her room. A thought she keeps with her as she casts one last look over her shoulder to see Chloe struggling with the lock on Rachel’s door. And Rachel’s hands on Chloe’s hips, and Rachel’s lips – just barely, not quite – teasing at the shell of Chloe’s ear. Chloe looks so serious.

And it’s confusing, all of this.

But not a bad confusing.

And Max isn’t really sure about anything right now.

But she’s too tired to worry about finding the answers, so instead she resigns herself to letting Rachel and Chloe stay the two giant mysteries in her life that they are. If Taylor was right, if they’re really okay with her, then she can be okay with this.

At least for now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then Max sighs, and she trails off, and Chloe knows she would recognize that noise anywhere.
> 
> Fuck. So that’s it.
> 
> Whatever. She can probably keep shielding Max from the worst of it until a better solution presents itself. Fake it ‘til you’ve got a safer opportunity to admit that you’re hiding who you are on a fundamental level from the girl you had your first crush on. However that saying goes.

There are probably a lot of ways for a Monday morning to go wrong, Max figures.

She isn’t sure she ever really imagined an angry confrontation in the showers – over a boy she’s not even interested in, at that – being one of those ways. It’s over nearly as soon as it starts, at least. Brooke says what she needs to say and storms off.

Once she’s alone, Max puts the surprised pieces of herself back together and tries giving her morning a second go.

She makes it as far as the door to the main stairwell before she’s being yanked back inside; pulled into someone else’s orbit before she’s even had anything to eat. First thing on a Monday morning and still no break from this new life of hers! Maybe she shouldn’t have taken that Sunday for granted, after all. Not that she really minds. The traces of a smile she feels playing at the corners of her mouth are enough to tell her she doesn’t.

“Max Caulfield! Don’t you even _think_ about leaving without saying hello!” The voice shouts again, still scratchy with early morning exhaustion. Max is turning on her heels and heading back for the open door as soon as she hears.

Dana is waiting inside, still in her pajamas and practically swimming in the comforter on her bed. Her hair is down, spilling over her neck; over her shoulders; she’s not even wearing makeup yet, and she’s already as bright and energetic as ever.

The image of her backed by the clean morning light feels almost magical. Picturesque, a photographer that didn’t just get berated in the showers might say. But Max isn’t that photographer today. And she barely feels confident taking pictures of _Rachel_ , so there’s no way she can work up the courage to ask about this. Especially before Dana has even had a chance to get ready.

And then there’s that whole thing about how she still doesn’t actually _know_ Dana.

“Good morning, Max,” says another girl, sitting on the couch to Max’s side.

“Kate!” Max chirps. “I didn’t know you knew Dana.”

Kate manages to let out a tired half-smile in reply, but before she can say anything else Dana is interrupting and waving Max further inside.

“ _Ohhh_ no,” she hums, and Max recognizes that look of mischief in her face already. “You’re here so I can badger _you_. Get in here, girl!”

So Max shrugs. And she gets in there.

It’s only then that she realizes Kate is already completely dressed. Messy bun, jewelry and all. What a pair they make.

“Dana and I grew up together,” Kate answers, ignoring Dana’s attempt to change the subject with the sort of effortlessness that only comes from years of experience. “She’s actually the reason I had the courage to apply to Blackwell.”

“Mhm!”

Max smiles. What a _weird_ pair they make. Then again, she’s one to talk, given everyone she’s gotten to know recently. “Oh, wow. I – I had no idea.”

“Katie’s the best friend anyone could ever hope to have!” Dana nods just once, confident. “But that’s not why I wanted to talk. Did you have fun at the party? You were like, in full on coma mode yesterday.”

“Just tired. This weekend was seriously _so_ much more than I’m used to… But, yeah. It was better than I expected… It was good.” The thought leaps from Max’s tongue before she even feels it crossing her mind. And to her surprise, she really means it. It _was_ good. _Really_ good.

Dana lets out an appreciative hum at the look on her face, like she’s been given everything she needs to go in for the kill. “Oh? So you thought I would invite you and your girlfriends to something _bad_ , huh? What sort of party girl do you take me for, Max?”

The huff of air Max sighs out in lieu of an answer has that hum turning into a full-blown laugh in the very same instant.

“Relaaax, I’m just teasing. Rach never shuts up about how cute you are when you’re speechless, I couldn’t help getting a taste for myself.”

Max looks to Kate then, who offers the only thing she can: an apologetic shrug.

“So, the real reason you’re here,” Dana straightens up, apparently satisfied with whatever she took away. “Chloe.”

Max blinks. “…Chloe?”

“ _Chloe_. You know, blue hair, big ol’ softie, smokes like a chimney, had her hands _all_ over you before you two disappeared together.”

“She wasn’t… smoking… _that_ much…” Max flounders, not entirely sure which part of Dana’s description to focus on.

“Max, honey, she smokes like a pack a day.”

The exchange pulls a tired little giggle from Kate, who simply turns to Max and places a hand on her knee. _I’m sorry_ , the gesture says, _she won’t let this go until she gets an answer_.

“Dana,” Kate chides, through the slowly fading remnants of her laugh. “Max, she wants to know how you know Chloe.”

Oh.

“Oh – Oh. Right.”

Max laughs a little then, too. Right. Of course. Dana and Chloe seemed like they knew each other.

“Right. I um, I actually grew up around here. Before I moved away, Chloe and I were…” She pauses, not quite sure what to say. Not quite sure what too much even looks like in this situation. Judging by Dana’s face after even _that_ fragment of an admission, she would probably shovel up everything Max has to give with a spoon, but… it’s okay to want to keep some things to herself, right? To at least stop in the same place that Kate did? There’s definitely something here Dana isn’t telling her, that’s why she’s asking in the first place, right? “…I’ve always known Chloe.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. There’s no sense wondering about these things if she’s not even going to bother looking.

…Right?

“How,” Max wets her lips, immediately tripping over her own tongue when she tries to ask. “Um, so, how do you know Chloe? You seemed pretty…” Familiar? Flirty? “Friendly, with her.”

Dana smiles at that, small and gentle and more than a little distant. She stretches out her legs, lets them fall and dangle over the side of bed as she leans back on her elbows. Max can’t help wondering how many stories are hidden behind that look.

It isn’t until Dana tilts her head, eyes dragging over every detail of Max’s face, that she catches a glimpse of just how many there might be.

“A girl’s gotta have her secrets, Max,” she winks.

A lot. A lot of stories.

“Kidding again. You really are a treat when you get all shy like this, you know that?” She says like it’s nothing at all. It doesn’t stop Max from wondering about the look in her eyes. The look that isn’t quite possessiveness; the look that Max knows she recognizes, knows she’s seen before; known she’s _worn_ before, and yet still can’t seem to place. “Chloe and I met at a party one night, had a nice time together… you know how that goes.”

She doesn’t.

She wasn’t here.

So many people seem to know more about Chloe than her. So many people were here, living their lives alongside her over the past five years. Max can definitely understand wanting to keep a piece of Chloe for yourself. But…

“Anyway!” Dana bubbles back up in a flash, not content to let the conversation lull. “I was hoping to let you know that she’s a good person deep down. In case you felt scared off or anything – ”

“She really is much nicer than people give her credit for,” Kate adds with a smile.

“ – but it seems like you’re the one with all the secrets here, Miss Former Best Friend.”

Which isn’t true at all. All she has is… is memories of sleepovers and awkward first crushes. But Max understands the sentiment. They’re pieces of the puzzle that belong to her and no one else. It’s why she’s blushing at the sparkle in Dana’s eyes. It’s why she files this entire thing away in the back of her mind with everything else important she’s still struggling to understand. It’s why she covers it in hundreds of mental sticky notes, reminders to revisit it as soon as she can. There’s _something_ here. Something between Dana and Chloe; between Kate and Chloe, that runs much deeper than a simple desire to know Max is fitting in.

And she wants to know what. She wants to fill in the gaps in her knowledge until she knows every detail about who Chloe is now. About who she became during those five long years.

She wants that to be her place again.

“I guess, uh, yeah. I’m – I’m fine, you don’t need to worry,” Max tries, more than a little unsure about how to actually _make_ that her place again. “I should probably get going though, the bus is almost here and I’d rather not deal with Monday morning in the cafeteria.”

“Eugh, yeah. Get outta here and go get some real food in you!” Dana’s face scrunches up in disgust at even just the suggestion.

“See you around, Max!” Kate adds, leaning over for a hug before she goes.

~*~

“Looks like _someone_ couldn’t stay away,” Joyce drawls, lopsided Price smile and all.

It hits Max in the very same moment that she never actually considered Joyce might have days off. The downside to associating the two so closely, she supposes. Or maybe she’s just being selfish, expecting her to always be here. One of those lingering traces of Old Max.

“Guilty.” The thought hides itself away, crammed back with the rest; with everything else from the past few days. The thoughts that she’s _promised_ herself to revisit later. She will, though. It’s a promise, after all. “Hey again, Joyce.”

“Mmh, so a little blue bird told me that you girls spent some time together this weekend?”

Max nods.

Joyce sounds _exhausted_.

“That’s good. Chloe hasn’t seemed this excited about anything in ages. You be good to her while you’re back, alright?”

“…I’ll – try?” Max shrugs, not quite sure she’s catching the implication.

“Oh, I’m sorry, it’s just… Maybe you and Rachel can do some good for her now that it’s the two of you. Lord knows it’s been hard on Rachel havin’ to try alone these past few years, and,” Joyce raises a hand to rub at her brow, shaking her head slowly back and forth as she does. “I know Chloe’s completely incapable of making that girl angry, but between all the butting heads with her step father, and how often she gets herself into… _situations_ , she is such a handful.”

Max blinks.

And for the first time since coming back, something clicks in her mind.

Something important. If she wants to find a new place in Chloe’s life, she needs to take the first step herself. She needs to be the one to offer a hand. That place won’t come through sitting back and letting her time in Arcadia pass by day after day, without the tiniest bit of effort given to anything but following Chloe’s lead. Or Rachel’s lead. Max needs to try. And right now, nurturing that realization – that emotion – until its name reveals itself feels like a proper first step.

What she learns is that she’s offended. Max is insulted for Chloe, listening to her mother talk like this.

And she knows she wasn’t here. She knows there are things that happened to Chloe that she won’t ever get to learn. She _knows_. But that doesn’t make the fatigue seeping through every inch of Joyce’s voice sting any less.

“Anyway, I don’t mean to talk your head off about it. It’s just nice to know you two are gettin’ along again. Reminds me of when you were kids, you always did manage to keep her in line back then. What’ll you have, Max?”

Somehow, that feels even worse. Like she thinks Chloe needs fixing. You don’t _fix_ people.

“I…” Max swallows the feeling down for now, buries it inside of her heart. Close enough to the surface to pull out at a moment’s notice. “A bacon omelet sounds perfect.”

Mercifully, Joyce has nothing else to add. She scribbles something down in her notepad and disappears back into the kitchen.

It gives Max a chance to steal a moment for herself. To steady her breath and smooth out the edge still crawling up and down her spine. She needs to find Chloe and sort some of this out.

Soon.

As if on cue, a plate chooses that moment to clatter down on the bar.

“ _Hey!_ ” One of the customers growls.

And then comes another voice. A familiar voice. Hoarse and tired and angry. Chloe. “Eat my whole ass, Bill. Mean old trucker worried about his food slidin’ around on the plate, I’m taking my break.”

For a second that stretches out far, _far_ too long, Max isn’t sure what to think. Not until another customer – the one sitting next to… Bill – someone just as large and intimidating, starts breathlessly cackling; wheezing so hard he nearly tumbles back and out of his seat.

“I’ll make sure he leaves ya a good tip,” the customer promises to Chloe’s back. She isn’t listening, already well into throwing off her apron and storming out from behind the counter.

And then she sees Max.

She lights up faster than should be humanly possible.

“Max!” Chloe shouts, just the right side of indoor-voice that no one else seems to care when it happens. She vaults into the booth, her only leverage one hand slapped on the back of the bench and the other on the edge of the table.

Something tells Max to ignore whatever just happened at the bar. She almost considers listening, but it sounds an awful lot like that voice she’s been making an effort to ignore lately. The one still trapped behind the starting line.

“Was… was that okay?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, he’s just being a little _bitch_!” She turns back to the two customers, raising her voice just loud enough for them to hear. The friend starts chuckling to himself again, deep and straight from the belly. “Because his bacon and eggs touched. He gets weird about it, but it never actually stops him from coming here.”

“You keep this up and I’m not sure I’ll have any sway over that tip, Price,” the friend throws over his shoulder, scratching at his beard like he’s bashful over the idea of leaving her without one.

“It’s fine, you know as well as I do he never tips anyway.”

Chloe doesn’t see, already redirecting her attention back to Max, but the friend pulls out his own wallet and slaps a few bills down between their plates.

“So what are you doing here, dude? Skipping class?” She asks, already slipping toward that distinctly Chloe expression: that teasing, playful smile that lights up half of her mouth, and every single part of her voice. “Did I turn Max Caulfield, biggest rules follower in all of Arcadia Bay, into a delinquent after one single party?”

“Just breakfast,” Max breathes, not bothering to hide her own grin. Even when she stretches out to kick Chloe under the table. Chloe laughs, knows she’s caught, and she leans back into the bench as Max goes on. “No class until later on Mondays.”

Chloe’s smile shrinks just a bit, reshaping itself into something all at once softer and more intense. Into a look that feels exactly like the pads of her fingers did the other night, dragging over the curve of Max’s back. “ _Really_ now…”

“Yeah,” Max swallows. She tries to hide it behind a hand. “I uh… didn’t think you worked here.”

“Oh. Yeah. They love me here. I pick up shifts every now and then whenever the boss is cool with it. Not many places hiring dropouts like me after all,” Chloe gestures lazily to her hair, to the tattoo sleeve on her right arm: skulls and roses and butterflies; greens and blues and reds, tangling together and snaking their way out from beneath her shirt, curling a path all the way down to her wrist.

“ _Wowser_.”

“Hm?” Chloe sits a little straighter, looking at her arm without really seeming to register that this is Max’s first time seeing it. And then she does. She smiles a bit too devilishly for Max’s liking. Like she's realized something important that’s only managed to fly over Max’s head. “Oh, yeah, got this a few years back. Rach was actually the one who put the idea in my head. Promised to get one for herself just to make _absolutely_ sure I didn’t chicken out, but I think she just _really_ wanted a girlfriend with some ink… And also to be the girlfriend with some ink.”

Max giggles a bit, letting herself meet Chloe’s gaze again. “That’s so cute.”

“Yeah,” Chloe agrees, something wistful clouding her vision even as they lock eyes. Even when Chloe blinks herself back, staring at her tattoo again, it never really leaves. Max almost wants to reach out and touch, to ask what she’s thinking about.

She catches herself at the last second. “It looks great, Chloe. I mean it.”

Chloe smiles a little wider at that. It seems to cut clear through that cloud; through the haze of memories swimming in her eyes.

“So!” Max clears her throat. Now or never. Take the step. “I’m not sure how long you work today, Chloe. Or… how long you work most days, for that matter. But do you want to hang out later? Not – not that I don’t enjoy Rachel’s company, but it feels like it’s been forever since it was just the two of us… I want to get up to some Chloe junk again.”

Something flashes in Chloe’s eyes.

Oh no.

“Can’t get enough of me, huh? It’s alright, I _am_ pretty damn irresistible,” she leans forward, rests her head in both of her palms. “Oh and, please, tell me, what exactly does Chloe junk entail?”

Oh no.

She can feel Chloe’s boot tapping at the side of her leg.

She can’t find an answer.

“…God, you and those freckles are almost too much, Max,” Chloe hums. She turns suddenly to the window, pulling in an unsteady breath and wiping a hand over her face before Max can get a read on any part of that comment. “Text me when you’re done with school, yeah? I have the house to myself today. We can… shit, play Mario Kart or something. I’m sure kicking your ass at video games is just one of those things: like riding a bicycle.”

Chloe smiles again, and suddenly Max feels like she’s the one that needs to look away. When did Chloe get so… _so_ …?

And what was that about her freckles? Too much? _Her_?

And – and…

“Hey,” She whips around to the kitchen door, nearly launching herself straight out of the booth in the process. “Hey wait! You never beat me at Mario Kart!”

A satisfied laugh rings out from the kitchen just as the door swings closed.

~*~

Max knows she needs to get to class.

“Hey, Rachel? Can I take you up on that offer?”

She’s going to be late.

“To – I mean, to talk about your… business. It was a thing you said before the party.”

But she needs to know. It was one of the first thoughts Max crammed into the back of her head in an attempt to make sure Old Max stayed in the past. At the time, she thought it belonged there. A few days with Chloe back in her life is all it took to make her wonder.

She grips both hands tighter at the strap of her bag.

“What did you want to know?” Rachel asks, real worry in her eyes as she steps into the hall, touches her fingers to Max’s knuckles.

Max’s grip relaxes, just a little, when it happens.

“I just, I saw Chloe earlier and… Did you know who I was when you first started talking to me?”

Rachel lets her eyes fall closed when she sighs. She looks from one end of the hall to the other before letting a wry little smile tug at her lips. Before squeezing lightly at Max’s sleeve. “Get in here, you.”

Her room is candles and dreamcatchers; hundreds of those silly glow-in-the-dark stars scattered all across the walls and the ceiling tiles. There are posters about anything and everything Rachel has ever expressed the vaguest amount of interest in covering the space that remains. Max takes a seat at the foot of Rachel’s bed, starts breathing a little easier. It always feels safe in here.

“I’m just finishing up my makeup,” Rachel singsongs, sliding back into the chair at her desk. She’s staring fondly through the mirror, eyes locked onto the reflection of Max.

And Max stays quiet. She waits as Rachel calmly works through the rest of her routine, no doubt perfectly aware that Max is watching her every move. Every brush, and swipe, and every little flourish that she makes.

“Chloe used to keep a journal,” Rachel finally says, so suddenly and so matter-of-factly that Max jumps a bit in her surprise. “Full of letters that she wanted to send to you. She let me read it one day.”

Max feels her throat tighten. Just barely. Just enough.

“We were smoking up in her room, and it was poking out from underneath her pillow, I think she had tried reading through it herself. Anyway… They’re all, like, she tried to sound angry at you in those things. Like she was bragging about how good she was doing, or like she was _totally_ over you leaving, but you could tell she was lying to herself,” Rachel pauses for a moment, and meets Max’s eyes through the mirror. She smiles, something small and hesitant. “Chlo’s always been easy to read that way. Wears her heart on her sleeve and pretends like she doesn’t, you know?”

Max stays quiet, but she nods. She does know.

“I… _honestly_ didn’t know what to expect the first time I saw you, Max. All I had to go off of was those letters and that picture Chloe still keeps around. The two of you look like the happiest little things in the world, all decked out in some matching Halloween costumes,” Rachel laughs softly at the memory. “That many years living in another city could’ve turned you into someone really bad for Chloe, right? I wanted to know what sort of person you became.”

Again, Max nods at the reflection of Rachel.

“Wait, so you _did_ know who I was.” And it feels almost like a betrayal to hear. She’s not naïve or mistrusting enough to think Rachel and Chloe have been anything less than genuine with her the past few days, but it hurts.

“Yeah. Yes,” Rachel admits, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But, as it turns out, you aren’t bad at all. You’re cute as a button and _ridiculously_ talented, and even just a day with you was enough to understand why Chloe never got over you.”

Chloe? Over her?

And there’s that word again, too. Cute. They both keep saying that.

“Okay,” Max breathes. Have they seen themselves? Or… or her? She’s like, the small, mousy best friend. On a _good_ day _._ “Okay, when you say I’m cute, do you mean – like, like _people_ are cute? Or cute like a bunny rabbit is cute? Because I got that second one a lot in Seattle, and – ”

“ _See_?” Rachel throws her arms out toward Max and giggles, like all she’s done is proved her point. “And you’re funny, too.”

A second passes. Then another. Max chokes out an awkward laugh and looks around the room. Anywhere but Rachel. “So – ”

“ _Sooo_ , even if I didn’t exactly have the best motives, we’re friends because I like you, Max,” Rachel smiles as she glides across the room and leans up against Max’s side. “You’re so good. You are just _so_ good.”

Max lets herself relax just a little bit further. Rachel always has that effect on her, maybe it’s why she felt safe enough to ask.

Maybe it’s why she feels comfortable asking something else. “And, you brought me to see Chloe because…?”

Rachel exhales, slow and warm against Max’s shoulder, until she’s resting all of her weight into her side. Until she’s threading their fingers together and speaking in a voice smaller than Max thinks she’s ever heard. “We – she’s been… Things haven’t been great with us lately, Max. I wanted to see her smile again.”

“Well,” Max whispers. And she realizes she’s finally completely uncoiled. Her breath is steady, her muscles are relaxed, and for once, she’s even got a cheek nestled into Rachel’s hair. “I think you managed that and then some.”

She feels Rachel’s laugh vibrate through every part of her own body.

“No,” Rachel murmurs, that broken, cracked mask of hers finally crumbling to nothing. She doesn’t seem to notice, but Max can hear the hurt she tries to cover as clearly as anything else. “Max, that was all you.”

Neither of them has much to say after that. Max needs time to chew on what she’s learned, and Rachel probably appreciates the silence more than she’s willing to say. At the very least, she isn’t trying to move away. She’s just flexing her hand in Max’s, over and over and over again.

But they _do_ still have class.

“Rachel?” Max whispers.

“Hm?”

“Sometimes I wish you two could just figure out how to be more honest about this stuff.”

And Rachel smiles, then. She hums and pulls away, such a bright and genuinely happy noise that Max almost doesn’t miss the warmth of her body. Almost.

“But aren’t we so much sexier this way?” Rachel teases, leaning in to smooch Max on the cheek. “Now come on, we don’t want to be late.”

~*~

Honestly, the complete lack of surprise on Max’s face over what Chloe’s room has become is just about the last reaction she expected. Because really the only thing that’s still the same is the queen-sized mattress they dragged halfway down the block as kids. Some family on the corner threw it out one day, and finding it together was like finding a god damn pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.

Max is acting like it’s all no big deal, like it’s the exact same room that she left, and she’s only checking back in with all of its familiar little details. She’s wandering around, soaking up every single inch of decoration; every single magazine page or poster with a pair of tits or half naked women Chloe could get her hands on to spite David after the last time he threw a fit and tore it all up.

And then Max stops, apparently satisfied, and hits Chloe with that grin of hers.

“It’s just as you as ever, Chloe,” Max giggles, gripping tight at the strap of her bag like she can’t quite decide what to do with that knowledge.

Okay.

That’s fair, Caulfield.

It sure is.

But Max wants to say more, Chloe knows.

She might’ve grown all the way up these past few years, but her tells are all the same. Max is fishing for something. The only change is that she’s doing it with all the bluntness of a Max that Chloe never knew existed. Maybe someone put ideas in her head. Hopefully they were good ideas.

Hell, maybe this is just Max now.

If it is, that extra bit of backbone looks good on her. She carries it just like Chloe always knew she would.

“So, so – Rachel, huh?”

“Angling for a three-way over there, Caulfield?” Chloe asks, tipping herself over and falling onto her bed. Half to hide the smug grin on her face over Max’s sudden blush, and half to grab a smoke, grab her ashtray… that whole routine. Something to get her mind off the fact that she’s got Max all to herself in an empty house.

“What, no!” Max huffs, and kicks at the sole of Chloe’s boot, laughing again as smoke pours out of Chloe’s mouth with every matching cackle. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about her… Just, everyone’s been trying to tell me about you two without _actually_ telling me anything, and,” Max groans a little, cutting herself off in the process. She sets her camera bag down at the foot of the bed and crawls over to Chloe’s side. So they watch the ceiling together, just like they used to. Even if there’s not much to see up there these days beyond some tape that seems like it fused with the plaster and some water damage off in the corner. “And I want to know. From you.”

Ah, so that’s it. Buncha nosy assholes.

“Joyce is actually the one who finally convinced me,” Max admits after another pause. She sounds unsure whether it’s safe to admit as much, and she wriggles herself close enough that their shoulders are touching when Chloe makes it clear she’s not going to push. “She was saying some things today that…”

And then Max sighs, and she trails off, and Chloe knows she would recognize that noise anywhere.

Fuck. So _that’s_ it.

Whatever. She can probably keep shielding Max from the worst of it until a better solution presents itself. Fake it ‘til you’ve got a safer opportunity to admit that you’re hiding who you are on a fundamental level from the girl you had your first crush on. However that saying goes.

Chloe nods and stretches out. She shoves the ashtray back off to the side, and rolls over until she’s facing Max, head propped up in an elbow.

“So, shoot,” she offers. “What sorta bullshit’s everyone been spreading?”

A slow, unsteady breath works itself through Max’s lungs. She stays on her back, making no effort to join Chloe in the wonderful, wonderful world of lying too close together, but she _does_ at least glance over for a second or two.

The only thought to cross Chloe’s mind when it happens is that someone needs to tell Max about her eyes.

 _Dangerous_.

Max shrugs. “Could you just… you know, tell me a little about you and Rachel? That’s probably a better idea than sorting through everything I’ve heard.”

“That’s not very specific, Max,” Chloe grins. Her voice drops low, barely beginning to brush against something raspy and dark. She knows better than this. And Max deserves better than this. But Chloe watches the way Max’s breath hitches in her throat, the way she finally rolls over, blush on full display and both arms tucked up against her chest, and she wishes for a moment that it wasn’t the case. That she didn’t know any better.

But she does.

It’s not fair, but having Max in her bed isn’t fair either, so she compromises. She reaches slowly over to run the backs of her knuckles through Max’s bangs. Her hand lingers at Max’s temple; on the soft pulse point rhythmically working beneath her skin. It’s not fair, having this moment. Knowing she can’t do anything about it. Knowing that no matter what she wants, and no matter how badly she wants it, Max is already completely out of reach. She’s going places Chloe will never be able to find, because Chloe has spent five whole years completely frozen at the starting line.

Stuck.

Without even the courage to admit how she felt.

She can be Max’s friend for as long as she’s back in Arcadia. And that’s _all_ she can be.

“How – how about,” Max blushes deeper – a _particularly_ nice shade of red – and she just barely pulls herself away from Chloe’s touch. “Remember when you said Rachel just stormed into your life?”

“Mhm.”

Chloe’s voice is still too low for anyone’s good.

“It’s just, you two seem like you’ve never had anything to fight about.” The mattress shifts gently back and forth as Max struggles, trying to find the words. “It’s… nice – I’m happy to know you have someone like that in your life, is all.”

And Chloe keeps staring, because Max keeps staring. Until she doesn’t. Until Max blinks. Until Chloe forces herself to reach over and ruffle Max’s hair in a halfhearted attempt to muffle the sigh she lets out, flopping over onto her back.

It’s nice to dream about happily ever afters, Max.

“Well,” She says. She needs to hide the real answer. She needs to find some way to explain things without actually explaining any of it. She’s not about to ruin whatever Rachel has with Max by explaining that _no, actually, we fight all the time. We’re broken up more often than not and it’s a god damn miracle we’re even together right now._ Max doesn’t need to hear about that any more than she needs to hear about the rest of Chloe’s mess of a life. No more Blackwell girls. That’s the rule. Not after… No. Not even Max is enough to make her break it. “I don’t know that I’ve ever made her angry.”

Which is technically true. Frustrated? Irritated? Upset? Sure. But not angry. Never angry. Chloe hasn’t managed to fuck that particular one up just yet.

“You’re kinda like her in that way, Max. You both just – you let things go way easier than I’ve ever been able to.”

And she isn’t looking anymore, but she can feel Max’s eyes; can imagine her sad little smile. It’s probably a good thing the rest of her smokes are in the truck. This feels like a punishment she needs right now for even _thinking_ she could have something meaningful with Max again.

Meaningful means explanations, and explanations mean accidentally throwing this entire thing off a cliff.

They’re friends now. Just friends. Because any time Chloe tries for something more, she fucks it all up, and she can’t fuck things up with Max by fucking her too. She won’t. Never her.

If there was ever a time to reign it in, that time is now.

“Guess I’ve got a bit of a thing for cute rich girls like you two, huh?” She laughs, short and bitter, like she’s aware she’s about to ruin it before she even says the words.

“Wait, what?” Max asks, caught entirely off balance.

Okay. She can still save this. She can move this somewhere safer, get Max’s attention somewhere else.

Chloe pushes herself up onto her elbows and musters her very best look of disbelief. “You know why we never spent any time at your house as kids, right?”

There is an absolutely gut-wrenching pause as Max pieces her thoughts together. The gears are turning, and clanking, and banging around.

Chloe nearly forgets to breathe.

“…Yeah? My parents were always busy working, and they didn’t want us there alone – ”

“ _Max,_ ” Chloe chuckles again, less for the humor of the moment and more to mask the relief in her voice. Of course Max never noticed. There’s no way something like that would ever even cross her mind. She’s too good for her own good. But this works. It should get her off the subject of Rachel, at least. “Your parents didn’t like us, dude. Like… at _all._ They didn’t want to be seen inviting the poorest family in the neighborhood over to their place even _before_ the big fight.”

“What!” Max jumps up, scrambling to her knees and towering over Chloe. One hand on either shoulder. She’s nearly pinning her in place; bodies nearly pressed against each other. “Chloe, What?”

Too close, Max. Chloe’s pupils are probably dark and blown out judging by the way her heart flutters when Max’s breath ghosts against her lips. Which is shit. Because Chloe Price is a badass.

Her heart doesn’t _flutter_.

“Yeah, they uh… shit, they misplaced something the first and only time you tried inviting me over. Got into an argument with my parents over it, accused me of being a thief, threatened to… keep you away from us. You – you really don’t remember this?”

Max pulls away then. Barely, but enough.

And Chloe, thinking she’s free, chokes out a sigh. But then Max lays down. She rests her head in the crook of Chloe’s shoulder. Presses one hand flat against the against the center of her chest. Just like she always used to. She’s trying to apologize in that way of hers.

“N… no. Not at all. They never told me.”

“Probably figured ruining a friendship was a step too far, even for them,” Chloe coughs. Almost a laugh. “But uh, they hated us, hated Arcadia, and wanted out of hick town as fast as possible. Remember when you spent all that time convincing them to, you know,” she stumbles a bit. “Convincing them to let you stay here, after dad’s funeral?”

Max nods, and Chloe nearly loses herself in the way it makes her hair brush against her throat.

“Just a week. Just one more week with you was all I wanted, but they had their golden fuckin’ ticket with that job opportunity. There was no reason for them to pretend to give a shit about us anymore.”

Max goes silent. She curls into herself and into Chloe’s side, until their legs are just as tangled together as everything else.

“I never knew. I’m so sorry.” Her voice is so small when she finally answers that Chloe strains for a moment to hear.

The reality of it hits her in waves.

And she gives up. Gives herself this moment to pull Max closer and nuzzle her cheek gently into Max’s hair. She lets herself stay there, totally unmoving except for the few times when Max tries to wriggle herself around into a more comfortable position. Chloe lets herself have that silence. She lets it spread between them for so long that it almost feels like Max might be starting to fall asleep in her arms.

“Guess that’s not really what you were hoping to hear when you asked about Rachel, though,” she jokes, cracking a small grin when Max starts to stir and her hair is tickling at Chloe’s neck all over again.

“No. It’s – thank you for telling me,” She pushes herself up and smiles back. Just as small, twice as nervous. “And, sorry. Again. For never…”

“Nah, I told you the other day I’m over it, remember?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s really okay, Max.”

It is. It really is. Getting to hear firsthand that Max never knew doesn’t change all that much – Chloe always suspected – but it’s nice.

And it’s okay.

Max grins and nods. “Hm… Oh, I almost forgot! Dana asked about you this morning. She seemed happy? I think? It seemed like it anyway - when I mentioned I knew you.”

Chloe chokes in surprise. Max with the one-two knockout combo.

Christ.

Just when she thought she’d finally escaped having to talk her way around this part of her life.

“…Dana, huh?” She manages. It doesn’t sound as pained as she feels, at least. She doesn’t say anything else. And Max lets her have that much, even if it does make things awkward. Even if Max backs off and settles somewhere a few inches away.

Barely a breath of distance and still entirely out of Chloe’s reach.

“Speaking,” Chloe clears her throat. One more try. One more try, Chloe. “Speaking of Blackwell, you uh… have any more problems with Victoria?”

It works.

Finally.

Max starts talking and Chloe starts breathing again. She lets herself relax while Max starts spinning a story about how Victoria wasn’t in any of her classes today – which was both nice and weird, apparently. About how Taylor looked frustrated, and maybe they had a fight – and, hey, fair. That shit at the party wasn’t over nothing. And Max just keeps going, on and on and on, like she always used to when Chloe managed to get her talking about her day.

“But don’t worry, I still got yelled at today,” Max laughs, tucking herself back into Chloe’s side as she does.

Chloe lets her. She pulls Max that little bit closer. “Oh yeah?”

The story Max has for her then, about a boy who won’t leave her alone, and a girl who thinks Max is personally responsible for his behavior, is exactly the kind of innocent Chloe needed from Max. The kind of thing that fully and completely freezes her feelings under miles of ice. Even when Max starts talking about Rachel and how they first met – a story Chloe has already heard from Rachel herself – it all feels like time with Max used to. Right down to Max getting so sucked into telling her story that Chloe feels herself needing to bite down on her lip just to keep from interrupting. To keep from teasing. Of course she’s popular with boys, fuckin’ look at her.

This is what Chloe wanted.

Max should be the focus here. Max is the one who matters here. If it means getting to see her like this: bright and happy and someone totally unaware of just how good she is, Chloe can bury her feelings down.

Hell, she even manages to keep them there.

And then the front door slams open.

David’s _charming_ voice shakes the house nearly as much as the door itself. He’s already storming up the stairs. “Chloe!”

Shit. No breaks for Chloe. Not today. Not ever.

“Fuck. Max, please, _please_ just… don’t say anything, alright?” She practically throws Max off of her and leaps to her feet. There will be time to feel guilty over the hurt in her eyes later. Probably once she’s out of Chloe’s life for good. Because who in the hell would willingly stick around after this? “This’ll go better if you do.”

When Chloe’s door slams open, she can hear Max flinch back against the wall, trying to make herself as small as possible. No time to feel something about that now, though.

“What’s this I hear about you…” David growls, still in his school security getup. Chloe’s starting to think he wears it off the clock just to feel that fraction of a bit more important. His eyes fall on Max. “Who the hell is this? Another one of your ridiculous conquests?”

Reflex throws her in front of Max when David tries to take another step. Not Max. She doesn’t deserve this. “None of your god damn business!”

She barely feels a thing when David slaps her hard enough to throw her off balance.

“Chloe!”

Max rushes straight to her side, but the fear jolting through her body seeing Max so close to David makes Chloe shrug her off as hard as she can. Because she isn’t going to be able to deal with this if Max gets hurt too.

“I won’t ask again.” David leans closer, almost grinding his teeth. His eyes are on Chloe, but they both know she’s not the one he’s asking. “Who the hell is she, and what is she doin’ in my house?”

The seconds stretch on.

Chloe isn’t about to give him the satisfaction. He can hit her again. As much as he thinks he needs to. See what that gets him.

But then Max – _Max_ – wedges herself between them both. And David, in shock, or maybe just caught up in Max’s momentum, backs off a few steps. Chloe’s brain trips and skips over itself trying to piece together that outcome.

What.

“Missy, don’t think tryin’ to act all tough’ll do you any good. I won’t feel _any_ worse about disciplining one of Chloe’s druggie delinquent friends over a little breaking and entering.”

Chloe knows she needs to step in. Because David _would_. He _will_. It’s bad enough Max knows she works in a fucking diner, but this? _This_? Her arms need to _listen_ and get Max out of the way because this is just –

“Don’t think you’d keep your job if you did!” The shout rips from Max’s throat with more anger and vitriol than Chloe knew was possible. God damn, Max. “How do you think the principal would react if I showed up tomorrow with a black eye and some choice words about your behavior after school hours?”

The hate in her voice is shocking enough, but then David sputters, all his chest-puffing and machismo whittled down to nothing by… _Max._ By a girl that’s five foot five and barely a buck ten soaking wet.

“I’m visiting a friend,” she goes on, slapping a hand on Chloe’s arm for emphasis. And that anger hasn’t died down for a second. “How do you _really_ think that would play out for you? You’re an off-duty security guard for a school on the other side of town!”

David backs off. He straightens himself up.

“Just… don’t let me see you around here again, you hear me? Chloe doesn’t need any more failures like you dragging her down.”

And he storms away, making sure to slam Chloe’s door shut on the way out.

Time passes achingly slow as Chloe tries to piece together what just happened, but before she gets the chance Max lets out a massive, trembling sigh and collapses onto the bed. Her legs gave out, it looks like. And Chloe can’t quite help smiling fondly in relief. Max is still Max. Even after that.

“So, how long you been hiding that one from me?” She jokes, sitting down and wrapping Max up in her arms. As tight as she can. Fingers tangled in her hair; rubbing up and down the trail of her spine as they rock back and forth. At least some of the tension starts to evaporate. “Keep it up and you might be able to pay me back after all.”

Max doesn’t answer, and Chloe can’t exactly see her face pressed against her collarbone like it is, so she lets the silence go on as long as Max needs.

“…Pay you back?”

“Ah. Yeah,” Chloe chuckles, barely registering when Max gasps against her skin. “For, uh… When… All those bullies when we were kids? We used to joke you’d pay me back one day. That was a shitty joke, sorry.”

Max goes quiet again.

And then she laughs, and wraps her own arms around Chloe’s sides. She lets herself squeeze back. “No. No I don’t think I’m cut out for this sort of thing, Chloe.”

“…That’s fine,” Chloe whispers. “You’ve still got me. And I _barely_ charge interest.”

Max throws herself back onto the bed, giggling when the move sends Chloe crashing down with her.

“We should really get going though, Max,” Chloe sighs. She’ll have to find somewhere else to sleep tonight. “I don’t want you here when he decides to come back for round two.”

Maybe she could sneak up to the Amber cabin. Rachel’s dorm is out of the question, but she might give Chloe that much. Keep her safe without having to deal with her for another night. And hey, her truck is always an option.

“What do you mean?” Max pushes herself up until she’s floating inches from Chloe’s face all over again.

One of these days, probably someday soon, Max is going to realize exactly how dangerous she is. Whoever ends up on the other end of that is in for the best kind of nightmare, Chloe thinks.

“Don’t worry about it. Besides, I’ve got somewhere special I want to show you,” She says, cupping Max’s cheek and hauling them both to their feet. “C’mon.”

~*~

Max, it turns out, is too short to reach the fence while hanging off the side of the roof. Her legs dangling, making futile little shakes and reaching out for contact with _anything_ is Chloe’s first hint.

But Chloe has her. It’s the least she can do after that save from Stepdouche: helping her down without a word, putting her hands on Max’s waist. To help steady her. Easing her down to the grass. Helping fix her shirt. Because her shirt needs fixing.

Paying her back this way doesn’t sound _so_ bad.

One truck ride later; one full of nearly _endless_ questions from Max over where they’re going, and Chloe is pulling into a junkyard on the edge of town. It’s one of the only truly safe places she has left to bring Max without also bringing their day to a close. And with the sunset and everything, she figures Max would probably appreciate it here more than anywhere else on that incredibly short list.

She does.

Chloe watches Max wander around from place to place, snapping pictures of nearly _everything_. She’s framing a shot of a bird perched on that rusted out boat one second and onto some unrelated piles of junk the next. The bus in the center of everything, acting like some ridiculous monument to the rest of the garbage here; the train tracks and the forest; even the brick shed that Chloe and Rachel used to use as a hideout years ago. Seeing Max work is truly something special.

Seeing her bounce back so quickly after what went down in her room isn’t half bad, either.

Eventually though, the light does start to get worse, and Chloe knows she needs to start corralling Max back to the truck, or they’ll be doing this until the sun goes down. And probably for a few hours after that. It takes waiting until they’re back near the busted, collapsed _American Rust_ sign at the entrance and plucking the camera straight out of Max’s hands to convince her to listen to reason.

“Come on now, champ,” Chloe grins, holding the whole thing, strap and all, just out of Max’s reach. “That’s enough for today, I wanna lie down.”

Max stammers, caught between trying to find a suitable comeback and apparently debating whether jumping for her camera would be worth it. “But – but Chloe!”

“There’ll be more opportunities for photos, nerd. I promise. For now, get in there and sit. Not all of us have the energy for this shit.”

Max sulks, but she does listen. And when Chloe has circled around and thrown herself across the entire width of the cabin, head in Max’s lap and legs dangling out the driver’s side window, she takes pride in knowing that the groan Max hits her with is distinctly of the lighthearted variety.

“Just so I know you’re not going anywhere,” she explains, handing back the camera.

Max snaps a picture with the flash on in revenge.

And she laughs.

And Chloe laughs, interrupting herself from lighting a cigarette. She realizes Max is probably seconds away from plucking it out of her mouth. Further punishment for the makeshift Max-jail. Only, she isn’t, it turns out. She doesn’t. Instead, she tugs Chloe’s hat off and runs her nails over her scalp, eyes locked on hers every second of the way.

Stopping Max before she gets any further would be the smart choice. But then, Chloe hasn’t been much for smart choices, today. It feels too nice. Like a dream. Like a drug. Like she’s seeing glimpses of the past in the smoke rising up to the window. Those summer nights they’d spend ‘camping’ in the backyard. When Joyce still smoked and her dad was still around. When she spent so long just _existing_ near Max that her heart felt entirely too big for her chest. Falling asleep with Max in her arms. Sleepovers in her bed. Movie nights, and pillow forts, and pillow fights, and… Happier times.

First kisses.

The days when Chloe was still capable of kissing someone without being halfway into their bed and all the way under their shirt.

The good days.

She catches herself then. Her hand is cupping Max’s face. Her thumb is tracing back and forth on the line of her jaw. They still haven’t broken eye contact. So Chloe lets her hand still where it rests.

And she pinches Max’s cheek.

“Ow!”

They laugh together, as warm as the setting sun, even after Chloe grinds what’s left of her cigarette against the door and tosses it outside. Even as Max rubs at her face, acting as if she’s just been seriously, viciously injured. Though, the hand in Chloe’s hair doesn’t stop at all.

“Ahhh,” Chloe sighs, the laugh tapering off as she goes. “Sorry you had to be there to see Stepdouche doing his thing, Max. I really didn’t think he’d be home until tonight.”

Something like understanding washes over Max’s face. She doesn’t bother to hide it. And then a flicker of something else flashes through her eyes, and her face is scrunching itself up into that familiar look of confusion. “Step… douche?”

“Yeah. The Mustache. Officer Dickhead.”

Max shrugs. Her fingers still refuse to stop their steady back and forth through Chloe’s hair.

So Chloe reaches up, taps at Max’s cheek, and tries again. “Mid-life Crisis Madsen. My step dad.”

That, at least, gets Max to laugh. “Oh. Right. Yeah… He – he is indeed a stepdouche. I knew he was a security guard at Blackwell, but I didn’t realize he was your – ”

“ _Indeed,_ ” Chloe snorts. “Look at you and that fancy Seattle vocabulary.”

“…It’s two syllables, Chloe. And – and ‘vocabulary’ is like,” Max pauses then, and the hand she has working away at Chloe’s hair stills just long enough for her to tap out every single finger individually. “Five! It’s five!”

Chloe hopes the look on her face is full of at least a fraction of the love she feels, watching it all play out.

“Yeah, Max,” She says. “But _indeed_ is a big city word, Like cul-de-sac. Or antiquities.”

Her hat is being dragged over her face in the very next instant.

~*~

The situation really only catches up to her when Max opens the door.

Max’s dorm is just about the last place Chloe expected to spend her night.

Though, in all fairness, Max’s bed is also pretty high on that list.

But when Max offered; when she said she didn’t feel comfortable letting Chloe go back home, and that she would sleep on the couch so Chloe could have the bed to herself, she didn’t have it in her to disagree.

Part of her wishes she had.

“You know,” It isn’t a big enough part to stop her from grabbing Max’s wrist. From tugging just gently enough for her to come tumbling down on top of her. “You invite a girl back to your room like this, and she might start to get ideas, Max.”

She lets her hands settle at Max’s hips. At the place where her shirt is just starting to ride up.

She watches as Max meets her eyes. As her breath catches so loud in her throat that it honestly feels for a moment like the entire building might hear.

But Chloe stops. Because this isn’t what she wants. Not really.

“Let’s” she chokes, reaching up to ruffle Max’s hair, hoping desperately that it might diffuse this _thing_ she keeps creating for herself. “Let’s watch a movie. You got anything good on that laptop?”

“Oh,” Max blinks. Once. Twice. “Right. Yeah. Yeah, I do.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But then, why didn’t she call? Why didn’t she text? Why didn’t she try to get in contact with her in any way? Rachel always has time for Chloe when that asshole is involved. Always. She’s never turned her down, even on those nights when Chloe shows up collapsed outside her dorm, carrying the first word either of them has said to each other in weeks between her bruised and bloodied lips.

Rachel freezes, letting her hand slide away from the door.

She’s never heard Max playing guitar before. In fact, she’s never even bothered to ask how often Max plays. This could have been happening under her nose all this time and she never would have noticed! How adorable. Though, whatever the answer, there’s no way announcing herself right now ends in anything other than a _very_ flustered Max, so she can wait. Keep this moment for herself. Wrap the entire thing up tight and tuck it safely away with all her other precious little Max Secrets. The tiny things that only she gets the privilege of knowing.

The song goes on for another minute or two, aimlessly threading and noodling in any direction that feels natural in the moment. Once it finally comes to a stop, Rachel opens the door.

To find that Max isn’t alone.

A quiet “oh,” escapes into the air before she can catch herself. She’s getting worse at stopping that lately. Worse at hiding the hurt, too, which means the anger must be hiding just around the corner. That’s _really_ not good. Still, she has enough presence of mind to be able to bury it down. There will be time to worry about it later. There always is. Even if she doesn’t usually manage to find it until well after she’s been left abandoned and alone.

Max is… dressed, at least. She’s in her bed, all her attention focused on framing a picture of her guest. Of Chloe.

Chloe, who is currently sitting slouched so low on the couch that she’s nearly able to reach out and make some very leggy attempts at ruining Max’s attempts at photography. Chloe, who has Max’s guitar resting on her stomach.

Chloe. Here. First thing in the morning.

In Max’s dorm.

Please, _please_ say Chloe didn’t just fuck –

“Hey there, you sneaky sneaker!” Chloe grins, all well rested and satisfied in a way she hasn’t looked for Rachel in _years_. Not since back before all the fights and the breaks and the drunken attempts to apologize their way into the same bed. Something about that: the casualness of it all, the fact that she wasn’t the one to give Chloe that smile, and even the fact that it was Max – _Max_. Someone she willingly introduced back into Chloe’s life – digs her anger a clearer path to the surface. This sort of insecurity hasn’t reared its head in forever. This isn’t her.

Chloe though, clearly oblivious to her thoughts, waves her over like nothing is wrong. And hell, maybe nothing _is_ wrong. Maybe she’s just overreacting. Expecting things to fall apart because it just so happens to be about the time when one of them snaps their foundation in half. “Enjoy the show, Rach? C’mere, at least get inside if you’re gonna listen.”

Watching Chloe turn that relentless happiness on her is all it takes to convince Rachel that yes, she _is_ overreacting.

Just a little.

Only a little.

Even if what Chloe says after gifting her with a big, noisy kiss on the corner of the mouth; even if the way she slides her lips against Rachel’s ear, hidden from Max’s view, spikes her heart with something else entirely. That feeling makes itself at home in the depths of her chest. In that space just beneath her heart.

“Promise not to freak out,” Chloe says. “We had a run-in with David.”

Obviously, Rachel ignores her. She pulls away to scan over Chloe’s face. No cuts. No bruises. No injuries on her face at all. Which means he must have hit her somewhere else. But then, why didn’t she call? Why didn’t she text? Why didn’t she try to get in contact with her in any way? Rachel _always_ has time for Chloe when that asshole is involved. Always. She’s never turned her down, even on those nights when Chloe shows up collapsed outside her dorm, carrying the first word either of them has said to each other in weeks between her bruised and bloodied lips.

And then it catches up to her. _They_ saw him. Not just Chloe alone. Right.

Right. Okay. Chloe is here to make sure Max is okay.

Is she okay?

“Did he…?” Rachel whispers, giving it her best attempt at sounding level headed, and she’s definitely making a scene, and Max is definitely paying attention, but that doesn’t matter right now.

Chloe shakes her head, still smiling fondly as she pulls away, fingers massaging at the back of Rachel’s neck with no sign of stopping.

“I’ll explain later,” she says, groaning her way to her feet and sweeping Rachel up into a one-armed hug. She presses another kiss to the top of her head. Lets her lips linger just a bit longer than necessary. Long enough to bring a smile to Rachel’s face, because she’s really, genuinely getting to see this side of Chloe again. This isn’t a fluke. This isn’t an act. This is her Chloe. “In the meantime, you two have school, yeah? Don’t let me make two more dropouts outta you, get going.”

Maybe Rachel really managed to do something good for once – Max has been so, _so_ good for Chloe.

Maybe, in that case, she can avoid letting this insecurity over how close they are grow any larger. Things have been good. Max is good. Max is helping. There isn’t any reason to feel insecure about her involvement in Chloe’s life when she _knows_ Max would never do that to them. She’s not that kind of person. And Chloe isn’t that stupid.

So then why haven’t her fingertips stopped burning? Why is this stupid nervous tic still trying to make itself known?

~*~

Luckily, she gets a break from the question when Dana spots Chloe the second they’re back outside. It takes a moment for Chloe to move past her initial reaction of tense shoulders and nails digging into Rachel’s side hard enough to bruise, but she does take off eventually. And she gets her chance to brush some hair behind her ear without being noticed; the chance to make that sensation in her fingers finally fade away without being asked whether something is wrong. She’ll have to ask Chloe about this eventually, though. Because as far as she knows, Dana hasn’t made Chloe so nervous in years. And maybe if it was only the two of them, Rachel would join her. Offer silent support. Or loud, and noisy, and cheery distractions. Whatever Chloe needs.

But it isn’t just the two of them, anymore.

They have Max.

And more importantly, it sounds like Max had a very unfortunate meeting with a very terrible person. Rachel’s petty worries don’t have any place in this. She needs to push them down until the dark chokes them out; until they’ve faded away into nothing. She needs to be here to help.

“Did you two have fun yesterday?” She asks, only just now taking notice of the stern curiosity on Max’s face as she watches Chloe leave.

It’s so easy to forget sometimes how many little details Max notices. She’ll have the entire story about those two pieced together before much longer, Rachel suspects. She might have _already_ managed it.

“Yeah!” Max breathes, smiling bright and happy as she turns back to Rachel. “Her room is… It’s like she’s managed to fill every single inch of everything she touches with a pure, distilled form of _Chloe_ ,” she pauses, tripping over her own breath. “We – we didn’t spend very long at her place though. Because of the… her step dad.”

“Mmh… I’m sorry you had to meet him. I know Chlo’s been trying to keep you away from all that.” Her fingers brush at Max’s elbow to punctuate the thought. To get Max moving again. Because Rachel doesn’t trust herself to say anything else with those two still in sight. She’ll say too much. Reveal something else Chloe’s been trying to keep hidden in her misguided attempt to protect Max. She’s already made that mistake once. Even though anyone with half a brain can see Max isn’t weak enough to be scared off. No one who can so thoroughly uproot Chloe’s attention; no one who can so effortlessly blow away every bit of grief and anger she’s been feeling could ever be that weak. But it’s important to Chloe.

“It’s fine, we…” Max trails off, sighs, and Rachel lets her have that silence.

She gives her that, doesn’t ask anything else. She knows what David is like.

They all do, now.

And it takes time, but Max does eventually gather together her thoughts and find a way to keep talking. “She took me to the – yours, I guess – junkyard, after that. She didn’t really tell me anything other than that you two used to hang out there, though.”

That detail, somehow, makes Rachel feel warmer than anything else.

Chloe isn’t treating Max like every other girl she meets lately. She’s introducing her to _their_ lives. Not hers alone. She’s not hiding Rachel away, or keeping her a secret, or treating Max like an outlet for feelings Rachel wasn’t strong enough to help her through. She’s friends with Max.

They’re friends.

Just friends.

They’re all capable of being friends.

“I got a _ton_ of good pictures I was hoping to look through later, actually,” Max beams, nowhere near as embarrassed as she tries to sound. “I think Chloe might’ve gotten a little bored following me around for so long, so I didn’t bother when we were together yesterday.”

And Rachel knows there’s absolutely no way that’s true. Chloe would’ve been in heaven watching Max work. The thought even brings enough of a smile to her face that she’s able to joke back at Max like nothing is bothering her at all. Because there she is, brushing Rachel’s worries away as easily as ever. There she is, trying her best to help with nothing but her presence and her smile.

“Max? If I didn’t know any better, I might be tempted to say this is you asking me on a date.” Rachel brings them to a stop, grinning way too wide and way too satisfied.

Max doesn’t deny it. She just smiles, no less bright for how small and hidden she tries to keep herself when she ducks her head away. And Rachel isn’t sure what brought this on, but Max noticing she’s upset? Max trying to be proactive – however shy she still is – and offering the best solution she can think up on a moment’s notice? It’s _adorable_. There’s no way she’s letting this chance slip through her fingers. Not after the two she’s missed already. Not after she’s spent the whole morning worrying that Max might be trying to… what, steal Chloe from her? This Max? _Her_ Max? She would never.

“Well, if you’re not gonna deny it, who am I to say no? How about, if you don’t mind waiting until the end of the week, you go ahead and keep that camera ready? We can head to junkyard ourselves and get a few more shots to look through.”

Max exhales in response, like she was holding her breath waiting for an answer. And she smiles just a bit wider.

She meets Rachel’s eyes again.

~*~

There is a moment – a very short moment, but still enough that Taylor can feel the beginnings of her breath freezing inside of her lungs – where Victoria looks like she might finally have something to say. Like she might finally be willing to talk.

Finally.

She doesn’t quite get there.

Instead, Victoria clenches her jaw and storms out of the classroom. She leaves her laptop behind. Probably deliberately. It isn’t exactly the clearest invitation, but she’s trying, and that is the only thing Taylor has ever asked of her. Still, she’s not against making Victoria sweat with her anger for a _little_ bit longer. They both know she’s the one who’s wrong here. They both know Victoria is the one who needs to apologize. So if Taylor takes slightly longer than normal to gather her things, or if she spends a few minutes asking Ms. Hoida for advice on this week’s assignment, or hell, if she stops off to see whether Trevor and Justin are holding – and they are – then that’s just something Victoria needs to deal with on her own.

It’s only after she stumbles into some incredibly awkward eye contact with Brooke that she decides she’s overstaying her absence. That it’s probably time to just get the whole thing over with. There’s something judgy in Brooke’s eyes that almost convinces Taylor to stomp over. Almost. But she already knows exactly how pointless it would be.

Besides, it’s probably more of a general _fuck you_ scowl than one meant to make her feel bad about trying to score some weed without having to putz around in town until she stumbles into Frank. Even Brooke isn’t that petty. She’s certainly petty enough to direct a good chunk of Max-adjacent frustration her way just because they had one little chat, but she’s not _that_ petty.

And anyway, there’s no actual anger fueling… whatever this is. Her standoff with Brooke has waited years for some sort of resolution.

It can keep waiting.

Victoria needs dealing with first.

“Hey Taylor, you look like a girl on a mission,” Dana smiles. She’s sitting with Juliet under the big tree outside the dorms, no doubt slacking on homework in favor of enjoying the weather. “Victoria’s up in her room, if you’re looking.”

She is. And she knew that much already.

“Yeah. Thanks,” she replies, cracking a smile of her own under the infectious weight of Dana’s stare. “Vic ‘accidentally’ left her stuff with me, so I figured she wouldn’t just run off.”

Her eyes drift over to the building for a moment, the rest of her stuck rooted to the spot. Still not ready to confront what’s waiting for her. She can see it now: all the yelling and ignoring in service of voicing worries that might honestly crush Victoria without that chance to vent themselves off. Taylor knows she needs to be there. She knows Victoria would just bottle it all up until it hit the bursting point if she wasn’t… but it’s exhausting sometimes. It’s exhausting trying to convince someone to be more open with that part of themselves after hiding it away for so long. It _will_ happen. She _will_ get there. Eventually. But the road there fucking sucks. And it’s way too early in the week for this.

It’s always too early for this though, so she turns back to Dana. To Juliet “…Mind if I sit?”

Juliet nods and gestures to the grass at their feet. So Taylor sits. She carefully drops her bag, pausing to watch as it falls alongside the two already there, and she sits.

“So dish, what’s up her ass this time?” Dana asks the very instant that Taylor is settled, that gentle smile of hers – all sunshine and comfort – as always, offering an opportunity to vent. Always offering to listen. It has Taylor looking back to the building. Again. Pulled by the invisible force of the fact that Victoria probably _feels_ that she’s out here right now. Stalling her time away.

“Rach and Chloe,” she admits.

The meaning goes entirely over their heads.

“Right, sorry. I mean, their whole thing with Max is uh,” Taylor swallows and gestures lazily to herself, reaching for words that might feel even vaguely fitting. They _know_. Everyone knows. It’s just that it’s also one of those things that everyone tends to block out without realizing until it becomes buried under enough of day to day life around here to seem nearly forgotten. “…Like, it’s juuust a little too familiar for her.”

A slow understanding dawns on Dana’s face. It washes away her smile with something softer. Even more genuine. “Oh. _That._ ”

Juliet picks up the thought the instant that it leaps from Dana’s mouth. “…I don’t see how it’s really the same thing, though. I mean, sure, I get why she thinks that, but… this isn’t her problem to fix. It’s not even a problem! When was the last time things were so peaceful around here?”

A flash of regret pulses through Dana’s eyes as soon as the words register. Juliet, always with the lack of tact. Still. It’s welcome today. And at a loss for anything else to add, Dana only nods, mouth drawn into a tight line. Tactless doesn’t have to mean false, after all.

“I know, I know,” Taylor sighs out a massive breath in response. Because she does. She knows, but still. _Still._ “But it’s Vic, you know she’d never drop it that easily. She’s probably been beating herself up with guilt having to see them every day, and it’s all just coming out as like… Entirely directionless rage. Which is obviously a huge blast for me to deal with.”

To her surprise, she manages the smallest little chuckle as she trails off. Dana reaches out and pokes a foot at Taylor’s side in response, grinning like that laugh was all she needed to hear.

“You’ve got this. We’ll kick her ass for you if she doesn’t come around.”

Taylor snorts.

Because Dana would absolutely start something. She wouldn’t even need a reason. The opportunity to protect one of her friends is all the motivation she would ever need. So Taylor rolls over and pats a silent _thank you_ at Dana’s shoe before climbing back her feet.

“Hopefully it doesn’t come to that,” she adds, wiping a few stubborn blades of grass from her legs. “…By the way? I’m glad you two are talking again. I missed it.”

~*~

Victoria is in Taylor’s face, snatching back the laptop before it’s even halfway out of her bag. Taylor has barely even made it into the room.

“God,” Victoria grunts, placing it on her desk with a level of care that feels bizarrely out of place given the way she’s still carrying herself. She whips back around when she’s done. Angry scowl. Hands on hips. Perfectly rehearsed stance. Check, check, check. One of these days Victoria is going to need to come up with a new opening strategy. This one doesn’t work and it never has. Taylor never let it. “I’m worried about her, okay? Alright? Fuck.”

Taylor blinks, slow. She doesn’t move any further into the room. Doesn’t even bother to close the door. “Do you maybe want to back up a bit there, Vic?”

“Would you just fucking get in here? Don’t show up all high and mighty and then turn around and _…_ You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Victoria snaps, dragging her inside and slamming the door shut.

It’s entirely fair. Taylor just wanted to hear an apology before they really got into it. But Victoria would never open with that. Not yet. Not that easily. That’s never been her.

First, she needs to explain.

“Look,” she sighs, throwing out a stiff arm toward the couch before she starts pacing around the room. She wants Taylor to sit. She wants her captive audience while she explains herself like Taylor doesn’t already understand exactly what this is about. It would almost be insulting if Victoria wasn’t so clearly hurting over this reminder of the past. Or if Victoria hadn’t spent every day after that incident teaching herself to communicate in ways that work for them. Ways that are healthy for them. And this, frustrating as it is, is still progress. It’s still _good_. So Taylor sits. “If it was just one of them – either of them, I don’t give one single shit which – this wouldn’t be bothering me.”

Taylor quirks an eyebrow. She doesn’t speak up.

“Okay, it _would_ , but – ”

Taylor doesn’t stop staring. They’ve already seen _if it was just one of them._

One more glance from Victoria, and the lie finally crumbles. “Fuck. Okay, it _did._ But not as much as it does right now. It’s bad enough that girl has to deal with Rachel Amber dragging out the dusty god damn Little Miss Perfect act, as if she hadn’t already given up on it _years_ ago. But she’s also got the other one and her disgusting, fucking… _trashy_ mission to screw her way through every woman who has the audacity to attend the same parties as her.”

“Victoria,” Taylor interrupts, drawing out every syllable of the name. This is looking suspiciously like old habits already. It’s understandable, but it’s also crossing a line. Those two might have their problems, but they’re good people.

Victoria doesn’t stop.

“She’s got both of them, and they’re _both_ trying to wrap her around their little finger. Fingers,” she groans, all but flailing her arms out in frustration before she finally comes to a stop in the center of the room. “She’s got both of them in her life and no clue what either of them are really like! No one else has bothered to tell her! And they’re not… not stupid. They’re not just… No one is just conveniently _forgetting_ to tell her about how often they fight and scream and shout nearly every time the blue one sneaks into Rachel’s room. This is all just…”

Another choked noise cuts her off, so Taylor takes advantage.

“Victoria,” she tries again, firm enough to stop, but plenty of steps removed from cutting. And this time, Victoria listens. This time she stays quiet. “I know you don’t want to, but have you considered that they know what they’re doing? Maybe they’re staying quiet so nothing scares her away, they don’t exactly have the friendliest history.”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

She’s right. They both know she is. But this entire thing is about _their_ past. The current rays of sunshine on campus are just a painful reminder, they’re not the real issue. And suggesting that maybe someone else – maybe two of them, in fact – figured out how to skirt past the disaster that Victoria steered Taylor into isn’t helping anything.

All it really accomplishes is shining a brighter light on that mistake.

Instead of lashing out though, Victoria nods. Hesitant at first, but soon she’s bringing the back of a hand to her forehead and letting out a resigned, trembling breath as she steadies herself out. Maybe she understands. Both what Taylor was trying to say, and that this – trying to communicate in healthier, more normal ways – still feels just as foreign and unwieldy on Taylor’s tongue as it does Victoria’s. When they’ve both hidden behind gossip and meaningless small talk for as long as they have, crawling back to _normal_ isn’t exactly a simple trip.

What matters though; what she meant; what she needs Victoria to understand, is that what’s happening now with those three isn’t the same thing. That there isn’t any reason to let it bother her.

“Shit. Don’t give me that. They both try their hardest every single day to make sure the rest of us are witnesses to their bullshit,” Victoria says, blunt and sudden before she drops down as hard as she can in the seat next to Taylor. There’s no anger in her voice. She’s trying for it; still clawing for the chance to fight, but she’s not quite managing. Like she’s finally seeing light shine through the cracks. “They’re both awful, but they’re not _this_ bad. On their own they’re both perfectly acceptable people – ”

“That you still hate, apparently.”

“Obviously. But something about introducing little Maxine into their twisted dynamic has them reverting back to what things were like when they first started fucking – it’s like there’s only four brain cells between the two of them anymore.” She slides down, slouches just a bit, folding her arms in another futile gesture to find the right words. “So, if they’re not going to change their behavior – and they won’t – why not just cut out this ridiculous smoke and mirrors act of theirs? They’re going to end up hurting her, and it’s going to be everyone else’s job to fix that mess, and then this fucking cycle is going to start up all over again! Completely unbothered! Just like always! They can’t help it! So they should just embrace that fact and let Maxine know what she’s in for. Frankly, I’d have more respect for them if they did.”

And there it is.

Taylor knew that was where Victoria stood, but it’s nice to have these things confirmed every once in a while. Victoria might understand what Taylor wants here, she might even agree, but that doesn’t mean she’s willing to let go of her own mistakes. She still, years later, can’t stop trying to fix what she did. Still can’t stop seeing their story play out in other people’s lives.

At least the fight seems like it’s all finally left her.

“Victoria,” Taylor reaches over and places a hand on Victoria’s thigh. When she doesn’t get a response, she tries rubbing little circles into the spot with her thumb. She lets herself sound just a bit more confident. “ _Babe._ ”

The look Victoria gives her then is more exhausted than anything. She’s tired. Taylor can work with tired much more easily than she can wait out the angry.

“Right. I’m sorry,” Victoria mumbles, all long winded resignation.

“For?”

Some of that familiar fire manages to make it back into her voice, even if nothing else manages to keep up. “For taking this out on you, don’t be a bitch.”

“Vic.”

“ _God._ I’m sorry for that too.”

And that one, Taylor accepts. She wraps an arm around Victoria’s shoulder and tugs just gently to enough to get her leaning into her side. Relaxing and breathing and slowing all the way down. Until she’s ready to hear what needs to be said.

“Max and I aren’t the same person.”

Victoria tenses when the words leave Taylor lips, and she looks straight ahead, refusing to meet her eyes. But this time at least, she doesn’t fight back.

“…I know,” She responds after a beat.

“And you’re not them. You’re not _either_ of them. You’re you. Our situations aren’t the same.”

Victoria takes another moment. She pushes herself up, trying to scowl that _don’t you tell me my business_ scowl of hers, but she doesn’t fight back. All she has anymore is those memories. “They… Taylor, I fucking _ruined_ you. And that Kate girl too, and I lost friends, and I lost _you_ friends. All because I couldn’t reign in my own bullshit. I fucked up so much with you. And I know Maxine probably hates me. She probably thinks I’m the biggest asshole on the planet. And I deserve that. But after what I did, I’m not about to let someone else get their life ruined by another stuck up rich bitch who – ”

“No. Okay, stop,” Taylor interrupts. Victoria doesn’t fight it. She stops in her tracks to listen. “I’m still here for a reason, okay? Do I look ruined to you? I didn’t go anywhere in the middle of all that and I’m not going anywhere now. Don’t go looking for an apology in someone else’s life. Especially not one I keep telling you I don’t need.”

“But – ” Victoria tries, still too stubborn to let go.

“Pulling me into your life, getting me all involved in your shit? That wasn’t a mistake. I wasn’t a mistake. _We_ aren’t a mistake. Be better. That’s how you fix this.”

Victoria coughs out a laugh. Short and upset. One of those laughs she hides behind when she knows Taylor is right but still isn’t ready to admit it.

“You have to understand on some level that Max isn’t making a mistake either. Which means you can either keep going with this snobby bullshit and treating everyone else like the villain until you hurt someone who you _know_ doesn’t deserve what you’re doing to her,” Taylor continues, prodding softly at Victoria’s jaw to keep her from looking away. “Or you can _stop_. And you can be ready to help fix all the collateral damage if things with those two fall apart. Just, some self-awareness here would be great. Don’t go turning into the old Vic on me. Let people make their own decisions.”

The glare that Victoria has been wearing cracks and crumbles into nothing. She tries to look away, but they’re so close that everything in sight is Taylor, and that fact seems to finally push her into letting go of the entire thing.

“Fuck. Fine,” she says. And then she’s sliding herself back down in Taylor’s arms “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you are,” Taylor smiles. She squeezes at Victoria’s arm and leans over for her bag, reaching for the tv remote on the way. “Now, if you’ve finally got that all out of your system, I brought a little treat. I’d love to watch one of your weird arthouse cartoons tonight.”

Victoria hits her with another burnt out, frustrated look as soon as she reveals the bag of weed she picked up earlier. But it’s different enough from the last look, at least. Happier. Small steps.

“It just so happens I was already planning to watch one tonight. Lucky you,” Victoria says, tucking herself closer into Taylor’s side once she’s finally weaseled away the remote.

Taylor smiles. “Lucky me.”

“Yeah. Now give. I’ve got papers around somewhere.”

~*~

Something is definitely broken in Rachel. There’s no reason for this morning to still be bothering her. There’s even less reason for her to still be thinking about it.

But things are never that simple, are they?

Even just feeling the faintest touches of that insecurity as it began its long crawl to the surface was enough to send her spiraling down hard enough to crash. She can feel it. The urge to destroy; to lash out and break something. To find an inanimate target for her anger in the way she always does when things get bad. When she’s about to be alone. The only difference is that this time, there’s no one to blame but herself. She’s the one who introduced Max back into Chloe’s life. She’s the one who encouraged it, even knowing how they look at each other. She’s the one who worried Max could be a problem. Who convinced herself she wasn’t. Who could never let go of the past even as she helped Chloe to move past her own. This is all on her.

She turns her phone screen off.

She turns it back on.

Chloe probably wouldn’t answer anyway.

She turns it off.

She turns it on.

The message app is open before she realizes she’s tapped the screen.

Off.

On.

**Hey Captain Chlo, do you**

Too casual.

Off.

On.

**Priceless, we should talk about this morning**

Too demanding.

Off.

On.

**Can I see you?**

Her thumb hovers helplessly over the send button for so long that the screen dims. For so long that it shuts off completely. For even longer than that. Rachel takes a slow breath, one so long and so deep that her lungs feel strained to the point of bursting against her ribs. She holds it inside. Lets that feeling spread to every corner of that pit inside of her chest until it’s all filled with fire.

No, not that one either.

**The cabin is empty this weekend.**

She hits send before she can talk herself out of it.

Chloe texts back barely seconds later.

**its always empty u nerd**

**youuuu dumbass**

**you utter buffoon**

**yo u complete and total imbecile**

**im down tho sounds fun**

That works.

A day or two alone with Chloe is exactly what she needs to get her head on straight.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “C’mon,” Chloe says, pausing just long enough for Rachel to relax her grip. “Let’s go get high and make out like we’re fifteen again.”
> 
> A giggle bubbles up before Rachel can stop it, so she rolls with the feeling and scratches lightly at the back of Chloe’s neck. “Wow. The magic words every princess wants to hear!”
> 
> “Play your cards right, princess, and I’ll even let you touch a boob.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bumped up the rating to explicit with this chapter for some hopefully obvious reasons.
> 
> I've been looking forward to writing this one for a good long while, and it's got some of my favorite interactions so far in the story. I hope you all enjoy!

Max really is an incredible photographer.

Rachel knew that much already, of course. She’s seen the pictures, been in the pictures, and watched her taking the pictures enough to know it’s the case. Max is going to be famous one day. She has that sort of aura – one powerful enough to drown out the rest of the world whenever she’s working.

But there’s something else in her eyes today. The sort of intensity that Max has never shown any sign that she might be capable of. It’s breathing through her every vein, every muscle, and inch of skin. Bleeding itself back out through her every pore. Escaping into the air and cloaking them both in something so magnetic and warm that Rachel is left scared to even breathe for risk of disturbing it. She might send it coiling back inside of Max’s heart to abandon her alone with the cold if she tried.

Which is weird.

Because Max was only meant to be a little treat. Something to dig into whenever Chloe got tired of her again. Some way to keep her link to Chloe’s life, even if she wasn’t a part of it. Someone to, maybe, keep any of that from happening at all. So what the fuck is this? When did Max become so important to her? When did Max become the sort of person capable of throwing _her_ off balance? She’s Rachel Amber! Where the fuck did this come from?

They’ve done this before, the whole amateur model thing. But it was never like this. Max was never like this.

At the very least, Chloe’s struggle to get over her feelings is certainly easier to understand, stuck in this moment like she is. Because if _this_ is the missing piece? The last part of the puzzle to understanding how someone like Max – sweet, shy little Max – could knock someone like _Chloe_ so far out of orbit? Well. Then everything starts to make a lot more sense.

Those worries of hers? The ones she’s been stuck with all week? Shit, those are nothing in the face of reality. She doesn’t blame Chloe for one second, seeing this.

Max is dangerous. And the worst part is that she has no idea.

“Hm.” Max tilts her head and leans forward, far too close for conversation. She’s nearly frowning in her focus as she angles Rachel’s face a fraction of an inch one way, then the other. If Rachel were the trembling type, this might be one of those moments. Caught in Max’s hands. Her mouth barely a handspan away. Her breath dancing across that small distance and warming Rachel’s cheek. This might be one of those moments. “Okay. Hold still.”

Max steps back. She snaps the picture.

The breath Rachel takes once Max signals that she’s finished comes dangerously close to shaking. But seeing as she isn’t the type, there probably wasn’t any danger. Probably.

“Perfect!” Max beams, smile spread from ear to ear and that familiar childish glee already washing away every part of the confident, intimate Max that existed barely seconds ago.

Max – the Max that Rachel knows and understands – offers a hand. So Rachel takes it. She climbs back to her feet without a word.

If this were any other situation, she might give Max a peck on the cheek. Or a hug. Or maybe tickle her fingers along the waist of Max’s jeans. Something to throw _her_ off balance. Something to get back control. As it stands though, she doesn’t have the courage to try anything other than the faintest of smiles and a hand on the shoulder during their short walk to her car.

Rachel doesn’t talk any more than necessary on the ride back to Blackwell. Not even when Frank decides that it’s time for her to visit. Not even when he decides to call after she makes no attempt to reply. She doesn’t pick up for the call, either. That asshole is the last thing she needs right now with her entire world on its head. She’s worried about Chloe, because Chloe’s not acting like Chloe, and now Max isn’t acting like Max, and as appealing as it might be to forget about the rest of the world and try out whatever new bullshit he’s got samples of this time, it’s also not remotely helpful in making those worries disappear.

She knows Max can see the screen. She knows Max has probably heard enough about Frank to put some of the mystery together. But Max doesn’t ask.

She _really_ wishes Max would ask.

Because she might just be willing to spill every last detail.

~*~

Rachel makes it up to the cabin just before dark. Chloe doesn’t pull up for about another hour, so Rachel – unfortunately – gets the chance to spend some quality time with the overpriced and overdesigned porch lights.

She could break them if she thought it would accomplish anything.

She could probably risk sitting on the bench just outside the front door, too. But frankly, it’s always seemed like it might shatter if she so much as looked at it too long, so the stairs will have to do. Her parents really do have the worst taste in these things. Which leaves her in an unfortunate spot. Until Chloe gets here, all she can really do is use her time to think on that, or to think about Max. And Chloe. And Max and Chloe. And her and Max. And, hell, even her and Max _and_ Chloe. She doesn’t really get anywhere useful, though. That specific line of thought only really manages to send her straight into something that makes breaking the bench feel incredibly appealing.

_A branch fell on it, Dad. No, I don’t have any idea how it missed the roof._

The faint rumble of an engine making its way up the hill stops her at the last second, though. The bench gets to live to die another day. For now. It’s still pretty early. You never know with these things.

“Hey there,” Chloe calls, hauling some ten-dollar beach chairs out of her trunk and strolling her way over. She’s smirking around her cigarette, fondness in her eyes and relaxation threading through the rest of her once they’re standing face to face. There’s always something soothing about this ritual of theirs. Filling her parents’ intricately designed space with cheap supermarket bullshit in some half assed attempt to say _fuck you_ to that way of life just a little bit harder.

As if the tall, chain smoking, tattooed girlfriend, and all her drugs, and all the boning in the big fancy bedroom, and every other bedroom, and the shower, and the kitchen – and everywhere else they could manage in both her home and the cabin, truthfully – wasn’t making the point clearly enough already. They just have to add that little bit of extra. It’s the principle of the thing.

Rachel bounces up to her feet, smiling back every bit as warm as she glides down the steps. “Hey yourself!”

And then she wraps her arms around Chloe’s waist. She buries her face in Chloe’s chest.

“So,” Chloe chuckles, deep and husky and slow as she pats affectionately at the top of Rachel’s head. Her fingers tangle deeper, start combing gently back and forth, lingering just barely at the nape of her neck before climbing up again. “Wanna tell me what this is about?”

Rachel grunts into the fabric of Chloe’s shirt.

“Recharging,” she says, and Chloe laughs again, tossing the butt of her cigarette away. The rise and fall of her chest send vibrations ringing all the way down to Rachel’s toes.

Chloe’s lips press against the top of her head next. And it isn’t quite a kiss, but the gesture is still every bit as tender. Every bit as loving.

They stay like that for a long, uninterrupted moment. Both of them pulled against each other and unwilling to be the first to move away. Both of them content to enjoy this moment of peace and quiet for as long as possible. Because for once, they both managed to find their way together completely sober. For once, no one needed to climb up the side of a building in the pitch dark of night, too drunk to see straight, talk straight, or think straight. The only thought in her head that she needs to apologize with her words, even though she only ever learned to apologize with her hands. For once, no one needed to drive across town, beaten to nearly the same level of hell as the truck she was driving. Wishing desperately for some place quiet and warm to spend the night, knowing she might not find either at the end of her journey.

For once, things felt safe.

At least, they _did_. Chloe’s hand already on Rachel’s ass is throwing a bit of a wrench into that feeling.

Not that she’s against it, just…

You know.

Time and place.

They were having a moment.

So Rachel tightens her grip around Chloe’s waist, angling her head back _just_ far enough to look her in the eye. Waiting for her is the gentlest, most understanding look she’s ever seen on that face. One that makes her question whether Chloe feels the same about where they stand, lately. Makes her wonder whether she agreed to this because she’s worried about where things might go, too.

Chloe has both of their phones in one hand like they’re a pair of playing cards, waving them back and forth for emphasis before she tucks them safely away into one of her jacket pockets. “I could use some recharging too, turns out.”

And it’s such a genuinely nice gesture that Rachel doesn’t catch herself staring, nearly lost in the blue of Chloe’s eyes, until she’s being scooped up into the best attempt at a bridal carry Chloe can manage while still dealing with those beach chairs. Until her arms are snapped around Chloe’s neck and she’s suddenly being confronted with a far more familiar expression. It’s her Chloe. Not just a little flash of that look in someone else’s dorm, first thing in the morning. It’s _her_ Chloe. The one that’s been hiding itself away, lately. Here. For Real.

And judging by the smirk on her lips, she knows exactly what Rachel is seeing because she looks much, _much_ too smug about it. And you know what? Really? Genuinely? Rachel is okay with that. This side of Chloe is exactly what she wanted tonight.

She wanted Chloe happy, and upbeat, and just as willing as her to throw away every other worry in the world.

“C’mon,” Chloe says, pausing just long enough for Rachel to relax her grip. “Let’s go get high and make out like we’re fifteen again.”

A giggle bubbles up before Rachel can stop it, so she rolls with the feeling and scratches lightly at the back of Chloe’s neck. “Wow. The magic words every princess wants to hear!”

“Play your cards right, _princess_ , and I’ll even let you touch a boob,” Chloe goes on, entirely too satisfied with herself.

“Wow. One whole boob?”

“The whole damn thing.”

“Might I ask,” Rachel smiles, leaning too close, lowering her voice too quiet. “What I’ve done to deserve such wonderful treatment?”

“Well, as the court jester, it’s my job to make sure your highness is all happy, and satisfied, and whatnot.”

Rachel loses it, then. She’s laughing that unrestrained laugh that she hasn’t let loose since their first months together. Something deep, and loud, and bubbling up from the depths of her lungs. She still remembers Chloe going silent next to her the first time it happened. It was the most embarrassing thing Rachel had been caught doing since they first met, and Chloe’s only response was to say _I love you_ , _you fuckin’ dumbass_ and hand back the pipe they were sharing. It was the first time Chloe said the words _I love you,_ and they came to her as easy as breathing.

All over a laugh.

“You keep this up,” she tries, unable to steady her breath long enough to speak. At least, not until Chloe has her boot wedged in the door handle through some half-baked attempt to open the front door with a foot and absolutely nothing else. “You keep this up and that’s all I’m touching! Set me down and open the door like a normal person!”

Chloe doesn’t listen. Obviously. She nips at Rachel’s ear and somehow even manages to get them both inside.

And it’s in that exact moment, watching Chloe MacGyver her way into the house, that Rachel knows beyond any shadow of a doubt that she made the right decision about this weekend. This is exactly what she needs to stop feeling so anxious.

This is exactly what she needs to keep from ruining everything.

~*~

“Y’know, somehow I _always_ manage to forget about this fuckin’ antique space heater of yours,” Chloe bites through grit teeth, lugging the entire thing outside to the back porch. She’s already burning her way through one of the joints Rachel had stashed away like it’s her payment for the minor request of physical labor.

The entire sight brings a smile to Rachel’s face too strong to bury back down. They must make the world’s dumbest image of domesticity in this moment. “Straight from the olden times of the nineteen nineties.”

“It’s the size,” Chloe grunts as she sets the whole thing down between both chairs, just the right side of gracefully. “There. It’s the size of a god damn microwave. Thank fuck it runs on electricity like one, too.”

“What else would it run on Chlo, oil?”

“Mmh.”

“Well, we could always just resort to the oldest method on earth for keeping warm if you wanna be a baby about this thing,” Rachel teases. The look on Chloe’s face says she knows what’s coming, but she turns anyway, one brow raised and a puff of smoke wreathing her every feature. “Get naked, and – ”

“There is no god damn way I’m taking anything off in this cold, Rachel.”

“ – and cuddle up reeeaaal close together.” She rises to her feet, gliding through the distance between them until she’s right up against Chloe, one hand playing patterns up her side and the other casually stealing the joint away.

Chloe smirks and pecks her quick on the forehead.

Once, kneeling in front of the outlet. And twice, when everything is set up and Rachel is back relaxed in her chair. Stargazing isn’t something they’ve bothered to make time for in years. It’s something they haven’t _had_ time for in years. Everything in their lives seemed to speed up with every new week and every new day that passed until suddenly all they could manage to do was let the current of time sweep them along from breakup to breakup to breakup. No more time for long drives up into the mountains. No more time for ditching their lives and hiding out together until they were ready to go back. No more time for being a couple. Short dates, rough sex, and loud arguments. It felt like those were the only things they still had, sometimes.

“…Chlo?” Rachel asks, passing the weed back her way.

“Hm?”

She waits a bit, listening to Chloe breathe. Watching Chloe smoke. Not sure what she really means to ask.

“We’re not,” Rachel chokes up before she can catch herself. This isn’t it. But she’s taking them there anyway. “We’re not ever getting out of Arcadia, are we?”

Chloe stays silent.

But she’s staring across the gap at Rachel, studying every detail of her face. Rachel doesn’t let herself turn away. She meets Chloe’s gaze head on and uses what she can to piece together the rest of her thoughts. “…Sorry, I was just thinking… This all seemed so much easier when we were younger, you know? Save up money and go. Two simple steps and we’d be free.”

She still doesn’t get an answer. Instead, Chloe sits up and takes a moment to light a second joint that she found hidden god knows where, before she steps closer and places it slowly between Rachel’s lips. Her thumb lingers on Rachel’s chin for a long moment, dragging along underside of her jaw as she finally pulls away.

“Well,” she says, slipping back into that warm, welcoming look of hers. “How about we pretend? Just for tonight.”

This time, it’s Rachel’s turn to stay speechless. The difference is that she nearly forgets about the weed, and the sight of her scrambling to keep from burning herself earns a quiet little laugh from Chloe’s direction. It’s enough to pull her away from the road she was on. Enough to get her smiling again.

“Tell me about it, Rach. Where’d we end up?”

“That… sounds fun to you, Chlo? Talking about a future we might not ever get?” Rachel asks.

“Eh,” Chloe grunts, waving her hand back and forth like she offered entirely on instinct and hasn’t quite decided where she actually stands on the matter. “Ballpark area. Fun straddling. Besides, you look hella bummed.”

“Aww, don’t tell me you’re _worried_ about me now.”

“Shit no, dude. You’re just ruining the mood,” Chloe chortles, grinning from ear to ear as she reaches over and offers her hand. “Pretty shitty night you’re offering me so far. I expect some kinda compensation for this kindhearted act of mine.”

Rachel lets herself smile back. She squeezes Chloe’s hand, just once.

She isn’t exactly sure when she starts talking. Just that it’s slow going at first. She has dreams. Ones that she isn’t sure Chloe shares. Truthfully, she wouldn’t mind ending up nowhere; spending the rest of their lives on the move and never being in one place for very long. She’s never shared that particular vision with Chloe. It’s always felt like the sort of thing she _might_ want, but you never know with her.

So Rachel explains. Slowly. At least until she can gauge Chloe’s reaction. Only, before she gets the chance, Chloe joins in with questions and comments of her own. She keeps the whole thing from being a very strange sort of monologue about Rachel’s hopes and Rachel’s dreams, and before Rachel knows it, they’re laughing and smiling together. Reminiscing on past fantasies and future goals that they still stubbornly refuse to let go. It might not be easy to leave, but it’s easy enough to dream about leaving.

“We’ll make it eventually, don’t worry so much,” Chloe states like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Somehow. Some way. We’ll get out. Just gotta keep believing.”

A beat passes before Rachel realizes she’s smiling. Another before she works up the strength to reply.

“…Yeah. Okay. I believe you.”

And maybe that’s really all it’ll take. Maybe believing is enough.

“Think they’d have the same stars over there? Wherever _there_ is?” Chloe asks after a pause.

Rachel snorts, and turns to look. She finds Chloe staring up at the sky, deep in concentration. “Chlo?”

“I just mean,” Chloe reaches up toward the stars in the sky as she speaks, drawing out a lazy triangle with her fingers. “Not to get all sentimental on you, but if they didn’t, I’d miss our good friend The Crow That Invented Words.”

“Oh my god,” Rachel laughs loud and sudden as a memory hits her with all the grace of a cough. All those fake constellations they named when they were still kids. All the histories and backstories and mythology they invented completely on the spot. Back when things were easier. Back when it was only the two of them.

“Right? Love that dude.” Chloe nods.

“Wouldn’t be talking without him.”

“Mhm… Here’s to the bird man. Thanks for all the words,” Chloe says as she toasts the sky with the barely-still-there remains of her joint before it all blows away to dust and ash in the breeze. “Anyway, I bet they would. Have the same stars, I mean.”

She doesn’t seem to notice when Rachel looks over, smiling; making sure to commit the joy on Chloe’s face to memory. Making sure that she never lets herself forget that expression ever again.

“Oh, found another one. The Strongest Lady. That was always one of my favorites.” Chloe points up again, this time drawing out a shape Rachel knows she wouldn’t be able to parse even if she was wide awake and seeing straight through Chloe’s eyes. A beat passes and nothing else comes, so Rachel gives her a little push by reaching out for Chloe’s arm again, eager to keep watching Chloe like she is. To freeze the both of them up in this moment for as long as they can.

“I don’t think I remember this one, Chlo,” Rachel teases.

She does, though. She remembers them all.

Chloe silently completes the gesture, threading their fingers together and rubbing her thumb along the backs of Rachel’s knuckles. “Don’t quote me on this, but I’m pretty sure the story goes something like – Once, there was a lady.”

“Uh huh,” Rachel grins. She squeezes back when Chloe finally meets her eyes, chuckling.

“Shut up. So, there was a lady, and she was strong. So strong, in fact, that everyone in the kingdom was scared of her.”

“Oh?” Rachel asks, dropping Chloe’s hand and rolling onto her side. “She lived in a kingdom?”

“Of course, where the hell else is she gonna live? A holler?” Chloe shoots back like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Why _wouldn’t_ someone from a constellation – made up or otherwise – live in a kingdom?

Rachel takes a moment, pretending to think on the question and drawing the silence out. Giving herself more time to watch Chloe. “I could see it. Strong ol’ mountain mama scaring away all those big business folk who want to ruin her town.”

“Yeah,” Chloe laughs. “Yeah, sure. So, in that case… The big business bozos from, let’s say… The big mining company, tried to kick her off the mountain using all sorts of dastardly methods. But being that she was so incredibly strong and powerful, they didn’t get very far.”

“She stole the whole mountain, didn’t she, Chloe?”

“Lifted the entire thing straight off the ground. And she moved it far, far away to the other side of the country, where everyone in her little mountain family could live happily ever after.”

“…I can’t believe you remember all of that,” Rachel says, almost breathless. Because she wouldn’t have expected little moments like these to matter to Chloe. Starry night skies, and the fresh forest air, and campfire stories were always _her_ things; always _her_ idea. She didn’t think Chloe would ever have cared enough to keep those memories close.

“I remember everything, always,” She admits, expression suddenly deathly serious.

And Rachel knows it’s a joke. But she also knows Chloe. And if Chloe really did care enough to hold onto something this small, it must mean that their time together has been just as important for her. Maybe even more. It’s an idea she’s never really bothered to confront. Their entire relationship has felt like nothing but Rachel desperately fighting to keep Chloe’s attention. To keep Chloe in her life. To keep from ruining everything and forcing herself to put all the shattered pieces back together for another chance at bat. And, it’s nice in a way she can’t quite explain. It’s nice, realizing that there might have always been another half to this.

So she lets herself play along. She traces out the shape of a diamond between the stars. “How about this one? Let’s call it… The Lady Who Could Fly.”

She turns to look at Chloe, who smugly gestures for more.

“This lady,” Rachel starts. “Unlike the last one, could fly.”

She hears a quiet chuckle to her side.

“Everyone wanted her arrested. They pinned all sorts of crimes on her, all because they were jealous that she never had any interest in keeping her feet on the ground. They were all stuck on the ground, and she got to be in the sky whenever she wanted, it was unheard of!” Rachel explains, already slipping back into the routine as easily as if they never stopped. “They were so upset about it that they even tried to turn the only other woman in the world who could fly against her.”

“Now that’s just not fair at all,” Chloe says, voice dripping in faux pity over the two definitely, extremely imaginary characters.

“It wasn’t! But the other woman had a secret. She was in love with this famous criminal. And, because they were both drop dead gorgeous – solid tens, no question – once they found each other, they fell in love at first sight. They even promised to run away together. It took time, and it was difficult, but they did manage to keep that promise. And once they were gone, no one could ever bother them ever again. They were finally able to live the lives they always wanted.”

“You know…” Chloe drawls. “Now that you mention it, I think I _have_ heard that one before.”

“Yeah? Have you now?”

Chloe finally meets her eyes again, one brow cocked and a massive grin on her lips. It’s that look of hers that says _you’re caught_. That look that says that she’s happy. That she doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

It’s a look that makes Rachel feel – for the first time in forever – like she might really be honestly, genuinely loved.

“Chloe Price,” she says, sitting up to match that stare.

“That’s me.”

Rachel stands up, walks the step and a half over, and climbs on top to straddle Chloe’s lap. It’s a tight fit, given the size of the chair, but she manages. They’ve managed in worse. “I can _not_ believe you could come into _my_ house – ”

“Oh? Is this your house now?”

“ – look at _my_ stars – ”

“I didn’t realize you owned the stars, too! I beg your pardon, miss.”

“ – and accuse me with those… accusing, accusatory eyes of yours, of being some sort of… of…”

“Homosexual pervert,” Chloe tacks on before Rachel can find a suitably ridiculous way to make the point herself. She even reaches up as she says the words, drags the pads of her fingers slowly through Rachel’s hair.

“Yes! We’ve already established that I’m a princess. It’s why I’m so beloved by everyone, everywhere. And I was just telling a perfectly innocent story about the equally innocent constellations. It had nothing to do with the two of us, or any sort of sordid past that you might be alleging.”

“Eh. Tomato, two tomatoes. I’m always up for teaching if you’re gonna insist otherwise.”

They both start laughing at that, two matching rhythms too breathy to have any meaning but one. It has Rachel’s nails sliding softly up and down Chloe’s stomach. It has Chloe’s hand sliding slowly away. At least until she tucks a strand of hair behind Rachel’s ear. Until she’s cupping Rachel’s cheek.

Suddenly, she’s not making the slightest effort to move.

So Rachel leans closer.

“Hey there, you,” she whispers, barely a breath away from Chloe’s lips.

The mischief in Chloe’s smile dims just slightly enough to welcome up something heavier in its place. “Hey there yourself.”

“So, I’ve been thinking.”

“Yeah?”

“About what I said. About your vicious attempt to slander me.”

“Oh, right,” Chloe whispers, her head angling off to the side even as her eyes stay locked on Rachel. “That thing I said all those long seconds ago.”

“Yes. So you do remember.” Rachel kisses her quick on the nose. “Anyway, as it turns out, I think I’d like you to educate me in the ways of lesbianism after all,” She pulls back just a bit, bobbing her head to the side and pretending to realize something important. “Pardon my language, I don’t quite remember your exact wording. It was _so_ long ago, after all.”

Chloe’s thumb brushes back and forth. Once, twice, and again. “What a terrible cuss. I thought you were supposed to be some sorta innocent princess?”

“I apologize. It truly was just the worst sort of swear.”

“Can’t believe I’m being made to spend my evening with no-good cursing royalty,” Chloe replies, so close that Rachel can feel the words on her own lips. “I didn’t think you were that kind of girl, Rachel Amber.”

“Well, I think I could be any number of kinds of girls depending on the situation.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And tonight? I’m a _horrible_ profaning princess.”

Chloe is the first to crack. She snorts, and she laughs, and she pulls Rachel down into a kiss that begins far less as a kiss, and far more as two smiles pressed together. Before very long though, it melts into the sort of thing they haven’t shared in years. Lips melting into each other, the barest swipe of a tongue, laughing and giggling into each other’s mouths. Something warm and slow and soft. Something that isn’t quite loving; something that isn’t quite there – and Rachel knows they probably won’t ever reach that point again, after the mistakes they’ve made – but still manages to be a large enough departure from the usual mashing of lips and clacking of teeth, and blood, and _please take me back_ and _please don’t go_ to feel like familiar and uncharted territory all at once.

It’s something happy. Something playful.

It feels like them in a way that she can’t quite describe. Nothing else, nothing more. Just them. Enjoying everything that they are.

The fire in Rachel’s eyes and Rachel’s touch might have dulled over the years, but it’s still there. Still thriving. And now, it’s slowly roaring back to life; warming them both up from the inside out with every new second that passes.

“Well,” Chloe’s grin is back, dopey as ever when Rachel pulls away. “When you put it like that, Miss Amber, how could I _possibly_ refuse? A simple country gay like me ain’t got no mind for turning down the chance to educate a beautiful woman.”

She should be embarrassed for how quick the line makes her smile.

She isn’t.

“Oh? You’re a country gay now? What happened to being my court jester?”

The moment Chloe opens her mouth, ready to whip another joke into existence, Rachel tugs her beanie down over her face. And for a moment, it works. But she’s squealing and giggling with laughter the very next, because Chloe is rushing to her feet and tossing Rachel over her shoulder without giving even the slightest effort to adjusting her hat.

~*~

“First on the list…” Chloe speaks up, muffled and still not bothering to fix herself.

“Chloe,” Rachel giggles. “Chloe, Chloe, you’re gonna walk into a wall, put me down!”

“It’s fine, I’m educating. Now,”

“At least let me turn off the heater!”

“Nope, I’ve got it,” Chloe reassures, confident as ever. She even manages two perfect strides over to the wall, leans down and safely unplugs the whole thing on her first try.

“Oh – oh wow. You weren’t kidding,” Rachel gapes.

“Never doubt me. So, as I was saying, I’m educating you on what all of this is like.” And just like that, Chloe is off again, gesturing at herself with her free hand and hauling Rachel up a little bit higher with her other. She makes her way effortlessly through the halls and all the way to the master bedroom. It isn’t until after Rachel has been tossed down onto the bed that Chloe _finally_ wedges a thumb underneath her hat and sends it flying somewhere across the room. “Sometimes, when all those lesbian conditions and everything are all in the right places. Chemtrails. Fluoride. Flat earth. All the usual suspects.

“Yeah?” Rachel laughs, propping herself up on elbows as Chloe climbs in after her, still talking like she hasn’t been interrupted.

When she’s settled on top, an arm on either side of Rachel’s head and the full weight of her coming to rest on Rachel’s body, Chloe leans close enough that their noses brush together. Far too close for any more of her shit. Not that it’s ever really been enough to stop her before. “When all that happens, and the planets align – you know, some rad as fuck astronomy shit – and… There’s usually a few other rules, depending on who you ask – ”

Rachel kisses her before she can say anything else.

“Not that I don’t appreciate this wonderful lesson plan you’ve prepared,” she grins wide against Chloe’s lips, leading her one way and another. Letting Chloe chase helplessly after, hoping for more. “But are you done now?”

Her answer comes tumbling out through a sigh as she gives up the chase and tucks her head into the crook of Rachel’s neck. She presses the smallest of kisses to the spot. Then another. And another. “Mhm… I needed this. Thanks, Rach.”

“Anything for you,” Rachel says, mirroring kisses up the shell of her ear and scratching gently down the trail of her spine. “I mean it.”

Chloe pulls away for a quick moment. Like she wasn’t quite expecting that level of honesty in the middle of everything else. She isn’t really alone on that front, though. Rachel wasn’t expecting it either. But the look melts away nearly as fast as it comes, and soon she’s tucking herself back against Rachel. Soon, they’re doing nothing at all. Lying together without a care in the world. Enjoying the silence. Enjoying the feeling of one another.

But that’s not why they’re here. They could’ve done this much outside.

Mustering up all of her strength, Rachel tries – and fails – to shove Chloe off. She laughs. She pats Chloe on the shoulder. “Alright. Now that all that’s out of the way, roll over. You can’t top worth half a shit when you’re high.”

Chloe cackles until her nose catches on the collar of Rachel’s shirt. She really can’t.

But she _does_ listen.

“Yes sir!” She salutes, putting on the most serious face she can in the moment. And she rolls over obediently.

She waits, patient as Rachel swings a graceful leg over her lap, and then she’s surging up and pulling Rachel into a kiss that feels much more like the Chloe she knows than the Chloe she knew. Violence and affection all at once. Demanding comfort and warmth. Offering up every bit as much as she takes. Rachel reacts without thinking, like always. She lets herself drown in the feeling of Chloe. The hand resting patiently on her throat, one dull nail running circles around her jugular and the rest unwilling to move further without the most explicit kind of permission. The rough, calloused fingers digging into her back and urging her closer, trying to erase even the smallest bits of distance that still remain.

Defiance flares through Chloe’s eyes when she pulls away for breath, waiting and watching for Rachel’s reaction. Apparently, she wants to treat that comment as a challenge.

Rachel is more okay with that outcome than Chloe will ever know.

So she kisses her again. And it’s sweeter this time; amused and full of that smug satisfaction they’ve been trading back and forth all night, because fuck it, why not try to hit every other positive beat of their relationship like this? Why not race after all it all without a care in the world? Why not be selfish and uncaring and try to pull all those scattered memories out of the sky to piece back together their reasons for being with each other?

Those memories don’t belong to the stars, anyway. They’re both too selfish.

Only, after Chloe’s jacket has been shrugged off and Rachel’s own tank top has been thrown clear across the room, the whole idea sort of crashes to a stop before it’s even begun. She can’t get past the button on Chloe’s pants. It’s always Chloe’s.

“I hate your stupid fucking skinny jeans.”

“You love ‘em,” Chloe shoots back almost as soon as Rachel says the words.

She blinks.

She stares.

“They make my ass look _incredible._ ”

Rachel doesn’t stop staring.

But then Chloe wiggles her eyebrows and smiles that smile, and it’s not really Rachel’s fault at that point for being unable to hold back the urge to grin right back at her.

“Fine. They do. I want ‘em off though, champ,” she says, forehead pressed to Chloe’s. “They seem to have a fairly big problem with my plans to get inside.”

“Ah. Yeah. They do that, don’t they?” Chloe leans forward for another quick kiss before rolling Rachel off like she weighs nothing at all. Her boots are gone in a flash, and her jeans even faster, all in one bizarrely smooth motion. Rachel barely realizes she’s been staring in disbelief at the pile they’ve made in the corner until Chloe is sliding up against her from behind. She blows on her ear and whispers in a deep, husky voice, “I’d think you’d be more interested in what these can do, though,” as she waves each of her fingers in front of Rachel’s face.

 _That_ gets her to laugh. It snaps her back into the moment.

She turns to see Chloe, already under the covers and posing sprawled out on her side. Looking like the smuggest piece of shit on the planet. So she catches up, loses her own clothes, and climbs in after her. She practically tackles Chloe, kissing her again, swimming somewhere between open mouths and biting lips and letting her tongue take advantage of the opening Chloe’s gasp presents. She presses as much of herself to Chloe’s body as she can, chasing that feeling of skin on skin until both of Chloe’s hands are tangled up in her hair and one of Chloe’s thighs is pressed just a bit too insistently between her legs.

Rachel lets a hand slide from where it rests framing Chloe’s face, when that leg refuses to back down. She trails it down her neck, her collarbones, to just above the swell of her chest, and she _does_ means to go further, but suddenly Chloe has a hand on her wrist, holding her in place as she chuckles. Again. Still fighting to keep her own pace. “I just realized – I can’t believe you let me get away with that line about touchin’ a boob. You’re _slipping_ , Rach.”

Which is very, very fair.

But she still has time to make Chloe pay for that one. She flicks one of Chloe’s nipples, and gets that mouth back where she wants it: throwing out empty gasps as it ghosts against hers, trailing helplessly after every little movement. “Who said I’m letting you get away with it? It was terrible even for _you_ , Officer Simple Country Court Jester. Did I get all of those titles right?”

She gets a scoff in response, halfhearted and halfway to being yet another addition to the seemingly unending string of Chloe’s laughter.

“Besides,” Rachel goes on, letting her fingers continue their work, rolling and pinching and tugging in time with the noises Chloe makes, all the way up until she leans down to kiss her again. Just once.

Chloe laughs at that, too.

“I told you already, I’m in charge now,” Rachel murmurs against her lips. Her hand moves on, nails dragging a path down Chloe’s stomach and dancing a routine around her navel that has never once failed to shut Chloe up. “How long are you going to fight me on this?”

Only, this time, the smile still hasn’t gone. In fact, all that prodding has really only grown it into something toothy and feral and _god_ if Rachel doesn’t want to slap that look off her face right now.

“How long are you going to let me?” Chloe asks. Her leg presses up. Again. Like she thinks she’s making a point.

So Rachel leans forward. It has Chloe chasing after her. Again. Because unlike Chloe, she _knows_ how to make a point. She drags out the chase; draws out the sight of Chloe hoping for contact and hoping for the taste of her lips, because Rachel knows the details of this specific point like the back of her hand. She keeps the barest amount of distance, luring Chloe far enough back to expose the soft skin of her neck.

“Fucker,” Chloe gasps. Cackles. Chokes. Somewhere and everywhere in between once she finally realizes what’s happened.

Anything else she might have thought to say dies on her tongue the second Rachel’s teeth sink in.

“Mhmm,” Rachel hums, sucking and biting at the spot. “That I am.”

The sound of her voice has Chloe trembling, reaching into the deepest parts of her bucket of _fuck you_ for another response, so Rachel lets her hand slide just a bit further from where it sits rubbing circles through the rises and dips of the muscle of Chloe’s stomach. Her fingers settle into a new rhythm against her inner thighs, just far enough from where Chloe wants it to pluck unsteady, laugh laced insults with every flick of the wrist.

“ _Ohhh,_ you suck,” Chloe laughs and sighs and groans all at once, one arm shooting back to grip at the sheets. “You fuckin’ suck so god damn much, stop dicking around and get on with it.”

And really, who is she to turn down an offer like that?

Rachel drags her knuckles slowly closer. “I thought _I_ was supposed to be the princess here?”

It gets Chloe groaning something like a laugh all over again, all the way up to the point when she grabs Rachel hard by the back of the neck and pulls her down even harder to bite at her lip. With just enough force to break the skin. Just enough force to make her point.

“ _Asshole,_ ” she grunts, dropping her head straight back into the pillows.

And Rachel finally relents because g _od,_ Chloe is already so wet that it’s a little ridiculous. She’s being unfair, it’s just that they’ve barely even gotten a foot in the door toward the fun sort of teasing. But that hardly matters, because it’s been too long since she’s had Chloe like this to worry about the details, and the way she’s already writhing and moaning and clawing to keep as close as she can is almost too perfect for words.

Rachel wanted to draw this out; to take advantage of the fact that tomorrow won’t start with a hangover hammering every one of her memories away and out of reach all over again. She wanted to etch as much of it inside of her heart as she could.

But with the way Chloe’s already moving? She’ll settle for the highlight reel.

One finger and Chloe goes almost silent, all that noisy resistance swallowed up in an instant by a whirlpool of ragged gasps and breathy moans and one _very_ drawn out utterance of the words _fffuuuckin’ son of a bitch, finally_. Being the sweetheart that she is, Chloe even remembers to try and get her thigh back to somewhere Rachel might find useful. But as much as Rachel appreciates the thought, she also doesn’t want Chloe being thoughtful right now.

Two, and Chloe’s moved on like someone tapped her shuffle button, whispering _please, please, harder, don’t you even fuckin’ think about stopping or I swear to God I’ll – fuck._ So Rachel brings her thumb into the mix, rubbing at her clit in rhythm with the fingers still inside, curling and flexing away. She can see Chloe’s entire aura practically shooting off sparks, ready and reaching full of hope that even just one might catch on the fire of Rachel’s presence and send them both bursting into flame.

Rachel finally lets herself take full advantage of Chloe’s offer for help, then. Only once Chloe is so far gone that there’s no way she’s paying enough attention to notice Rachel might be getting off right next to her. For that extra bit of insurance though, she kisses Chloe again before she lets her hips find a rhythm of their own.

Just to make sure her attention really is firmly on herself.

“You’re so good, Chlo,” she whispers, lips bouncing a path up to her ear. “You’re being so good for me.”

Chloe coughs out a noise and pulls Rachel closer, nails digging into skin. Her lips brush dry and chapped against Rachel’s shoulder. “Fuck you. _Fuck you._ ”

“Yes, even when you talk like that,” Rachel whispers. But she lets herself smile.

“ _Eat me_.”

“Maybe later, babe,” She teases, sucking gently at the lobe of Chloe’s ear and releasing it with a pop. “But only _maybe._ ”

She’s never seen Chloe fight so hard just to keep her attention from getting swept away by the things Rachel wants her to feel. It’s a nice thought; that Chloe might want to remember tonight just as badly as her. It’s also a _quick_ thought, because she’s catching up to Chloe faster than she expected. The edges of her vision are already fading white. So she grinds down against Chloe just a bit harder, just a bit faster, searching out a better angle until eventually something snaps beneath her and Chloe is gone; gasping and breathless, flexing and arching in the face of the spark that finally managed to catch.

Rachel slows the pace of her fingers to help Chloe ride it out, even as the rest of her speeds up, hoping to dive into the fire herself.

She soars in headfirst, consumed in a second from the outside in until her eyelids are filled with the entire night sky; with stars and bursting lights coming from every direction imaginable. The dark and the light and the warmth surround her so completely that even her veins and the beat of her heart fill with it all.

On her fall back to earth, she feels Chloe’s hands on her waist, slowing and soothing and steadying her out. Her thumbs are rubbing a gentle, calming little routine into the ridge of her hips. She can even hear Chloe’s voice, probably offering the closest thing she can to comfort in the moment, even if she’s not quite ready enough to make out the words. She can imagine, at least. There are probably more than a few fucks being thrown around. At least half of it is probably lighthearted insults over not letting her have her way.

By the time she’s finally blinking herself back to life; by the time her breath is steadied and slow, Chloe has her wrapped up tight in her arms, tucked away beneath the safety of the sheets.

~*~

Rachel waits until later; much, much later, to risk moving again. Long after Chloe is asleep and wrapped around her like a strong, smoky blanket. Long after the time is some indiscernible mystery too far out of reach to bother solving. She worms herself far enough away to have a better view of Chloe’s tattoo. For a time, she contents herself with that; with watching as it glows in what little strands of moonlight peek through the curtains. It almost feels like enough. But she’s never really been one for sitting still, and soon she’s brushing the backs of her knuckles around the toned muscle and the scars beneath.

She still remembers those early days together. Still remembers watching Chloe grow more and more self-conscious with every new addition to the collection.

As if it could ever be her fault for needing to find a way to cope with her home life.

Rachel still remembers offering – after giving the idea more thought than she had ever given anything in her life, only to find that the idea of suggesting it made her more _nervous_ than anything else in her life – that Chloe could cover them up with a tattoo.

 _I’ll even get one myself_ , she’d said, _that way, no one will know but us. It’ll be our secret, Chlo._

Sometimes, on nights like these when she’s the only one still awake, she lets herself trace along every detail and every line of that tattoo. Along every single scar that it hides. She promises herself that she’ll never let Chloe hurt herself like that again.

She’s never really managed to keep that promise.

But she keeps making it. One day, she’ll make it a truth. She knows. She keeps making that promise, because she can’t let herself get caught up worrying over what might happen if she fucks this all up again when the end goal is still to get Chloe out and get Chloe safe. She can’t let herself worry over how many of those raised, puckered lines on Chloe’s skin are because of her. Can’t let herself worry over the idea that moving might not be enough. That she might not be enough. That her being the cause of _any_ of them might mean she’s just as harmful to Chloe’s wellbeing as the dead father or the abusive replacement or the actively absent mother, or that she’s only being selfish by fighting so hard to keep Chloe in her life.

Right now, she needs things to stay like this. This little bubble of theirs. Familiar. And safe. And warm. Because she can protect Chloe when things are like this. Because Chloe is the only good thing that has ever happened to her. She’s her angel. And Rachel wants to be the same for Chloe no matter what it takes. She absolutely can’t risk ruining everything worse than she already has.

Sometimes, on nights when Chloe thinks she’s the only one still awake, Rachel can feel her doing the same. She can feel Chloe’s fingers following the shape of the dragon wrapping around her calf or the star on the inside of her wrist. She remembers asking about it, one of those nights.

 _It helps,_ Chloe had said, not meeting her eyes, _reminds me you’re still here._

What Rachel doesn’t remember is when, after that comment, they went to sleep. All she knows is that the rest of their night felt like something out of a shitty direct-to-video romance movie, all that closeness and passion and moving together like they could read each other’s thoughts.

It was the second time Chloe ever said the words _I love you_.

A sigh breaks her out of her thoughts. And she digs her head back into the crook of Chloe’s neck.

“I’m scared I’m losing you for good, Chlo,” she whispers, letting her fingers race along the path of Chloe’s collarbones. “I know I’m not blameless here, I just…” And here she groans, squeezes her eyes shut, and spreads her palm out flat. “I hate this.”

Chloe doesn’t answer.

Chloe isn’t even awake. But the rumble of Rachel’s voice is still enough to shake loose some kind of unconscious response. She leans down and presses a big, wet, sleepy kiss to the center of Rachel’s forehead before pulling herself impossibly closer.

“Feel good,” Chloe mumbles and grumbles, nuzzling against Rachel’s hairline as she does. “Love a soft Rach…”

It makes Rachel giggle, despite herself.

It washes away every one of her worries.

And it finally convinces her to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old Max might’ve struck out, but lucky for her, New Max is here to save the day! New Max is going to answer Kate’s question. New Max is going to stop worrying about Brooke. New Max isn’t going to act like an idiot.
> 
> “…I should really try to do something for Brooke, though.”
> 
> Okay, screw you too, New Max! You’re out of here for good!

If there’s one thing Rachel knows to count on after a night with Chloe, it’s that she’ll end up oversleeping.

If there’s one thing Rachel knows this morning, going off the sound of the birds singing outside and the particular warmth of the sunlight shining in through the window, it’s that she overslept.

But it’s the weekend. She doesn’t have to get up if she doesn’t want to. And between the overwhelming sense of calm threading itself through her lungs and the smell of cigarettes wafting in from down the hall about as gracefully as a boot to the face, it seems like she won’t have to.

Chloe only ever bothers to step out for a smoke when she’s worried about being an annoyance.

It isn’t too much longer though, before Rachel hears footsteps padding their way back to the room. A few more seconds, a grunt or two of effort later, and a hand starts stroking lightly through her hair. And even though she feels just about as far from grumpy as she’s been in too long to remember, Rachel turns and buries her head in her pillow, grumbling and groaning as she moves in the hopes that it might guilt Chloe back into bed. The whole crouching-down-and-watching-her-sleep act is cute and all, but she can’t _hold_ Chloe like this. It’s the morning! It’s selfish time! “Fuck off. S’too early.”

A deep, slow chuckle filled with something very, _very_ smug acts as Chloe’s response.

The kiss she presses to Rachel’s temple, trailed by the scent of smoke and cinnamon gum, as the follow-up.

Chloe feels like home today.

“G’back in here,” Rachel pouts, reaching up to run her nails down the back of Chloe’s neck before she gets a chance to pull away.

It earns her another scratchy laugh.

“I can’t, sleepy,” Chloe whispers through the tail end of that smile. She lets her hand continue brushing slowly through Rachel’s hair. “Turns out I gotta head into work soon.”

Right. Obviously. The universe wouldn’t just go and give them a whole weekend together. Although… That doesn’t mean they have to give up and hand it over. They can put up a fight. They’ve both gotten a little too good at that. Fighting against whatever signs get thrown their way. So, once that frustration of hers finally works itself out, she shifts, and shuffles, and slides around until she’s lying on her back. Meeting Chloe’s eyes. She digs her nails in just enough to pull Chloe down. And she steals another kiss. And then another. And another. And another and another until they’re both smiling and laughing like this is any other morning after any other night together, and Chloe _didn’t_ just say she has to go. The universe can suck it, they earned this.

“Chlooo,” Rachel sighs, grinning even wider when she swipes her tongue across Chloe’s lips and earns herself another little smile. Another little laugh. Another few seconds of Chloe making absolutely no effort to pull away. Of her lips staying firmly pressed to Rachel’s mouth.

“Hm?”

“Tell Joyce I’m gonna kill her if she doesn’t let you have today off.”

“You know she’s not the boss,” Chloe says, and her smile twitches itself just a bit wider. “S’not her fault.”

And like, okay, sure. Joyce just works there. But this was supposed to be two days of escape from everything down by the coast, and maybe Rachel hasn’t earned that after all, but she _has_ to have earned a little bit of whining at this point. So, to drive her point home even harder, she pulls the deepest, grumpiest noises she can manage out from the depths of her lungs, and starts climbing her way up. Stiff and lumbering and slow all the way until she’s resting on an elbow. Only, in doing so, she finally gets a better look at Chloe. In doing so, she realizes that Chloe has been walking around for god knows how long in nothing but her jeans – pulled up barely halfway past her ass. And, fuck, fine, maybe she hasn’t really earned that whining either. But the laughter she now has no choice but to deal with feels like a good enough substitute in the moment.

“What the fuck, Chlo?” She chokes, bursting to cackles.

“Huh?” Chloe’s brows shoot up in very real confusion as she looks down to check herself. Zero self-awareness about the image she makes: topless, and braless, and barely wearing the pants she bothered to put on in the first place. “Oh, right. Figured I’d take advantage of the distinct lack of neighbors while we’re up here. No Grumpy Granny Hazel to yell about the dyke with her tits out smoking drugs on the roof again.”

“You sure she’s still kicking?” Rachel asks. Still smiling. Still laughing. “I don’t think I even remember the last time I saw her peeking through the blinds.”

There’s a reason for that.

Her last few visits to Chloe’s place haven’t exactly been the cheeriest. Or the soberest. Or during the day.

But that’s beside the point.

Way, way, _way_ beside the point.

“Oh she’s too angry to die. Which, side note, same. We talked about our mutual hatred of cops the last time she caught me… like, two weeks ago? Anyway. For you – clothes.” Chloe pulls away, then. And after a few minutes of snooping around, she at least manages to find her hat. Unfortunately, she also ends the search as soon as she puts it back on.

“Better?” She asks, toothy smirk stretched from ear to ear.

“No, but get back here, baby.” Another laugh cracks at Rachel’s voice, and she leans forward, reaching ineffectually in Chloe’s direction until she’s finally at least got her _sitting_ on the edge of the mattress. Not quite back in bed, but it’s good enough for now, so she takes Chloe’s hand in hers. Holds it tight. “So, work?”

A hum and a smile later, and Chloe is staring intently out the window. Suddenly, apparently, shy about what she has to say. And if Rachel knows Chloe – which she does – that probably means she’s about to try and make up for this development in typical Chloe fashion: with some greasy, greasy food and a morning adventure.

“Yeah,” She says, grinning again as her thumb swipes back and forth against Rachel’s fingers. “But in the meantime, I figured I could try to make up for it. You know, if getting out of bed isn’t too much of a problem for your majesty.”

Nailed it.

“I’m sure I’ll manage.”

“Sweet. Maybe we could go grab something to eat in town and, if there’s time…” Chloe bobs her head, cutting herself off. She leans down and kisses Rachel with just enough force to send them both tumbling back into the sheets. But she pulls away before things get any further and lets her fingers go back to combing through Rachel’s hair. She still needs to finish that thought, after all. No room for misunderstandings; she needs Rachel’s agreement to be crystal clear when it comes to the little things like this. She wouldn’t be Chloe if she didn’t worry about them. As if Rachel’s consent isn’t a given. As if it isn’t something fundamental to who they are and what they have, at this point. “I was thinking, you know, before I have to head in for the day… I’m sure we could find somewhere else to continue last night.”

Rachel smiles. At the nervous – or, as close to nervous as Chloe is really capable of while in the middle of asking for permission to fuck – look on her face.

Rachel smiles at the sight of Chloe sitting herself back up and hopping to her feet.

She even smiles when Chloe gets back to the hunt for her clothes, shouting out “I’ll promise to cover up my tits, too,” once she actually manages to find it.

~*~

“Max? You’re doing it again.”

The words make sense. Sort of. They’re definitely words. _That_ much is easy enough for Max to figure out. But she’s so far down in her thoughts right now that it’s a little bit harder to decide whether she actually understands any of them.

“Max,” Kate tries again. And this time Max does at least manage to place the voice as Kate’s. “Is everything okay? Not that I don’t enjoy the tea here, but you said you wanted to talk.”

Right.

Tea date.

Kate.

That new place in town she’s been wanting to show Max for weeks. Max even put a bit more effort into her outfit than normal today! She shouldn’t be spacing out already.

…At all. She shouldn’t be spacing out at all.

It’s the first time since that party she’s bothered to dress up! This is a good thing! Fashion! Rachel would be proud.

“Sorry. Sorry. I do. Want to talk, I mean. So, uh… How – how is everyone doing? I’ve been sort of…” Max tries and trails off, hoping that her sputtering sounds at least a _little_ more dignified coming out than it does in her head. It’s all piecing itself together in the jump from her brain to her mouth, so she’s not getting much of a chance to pre-judge anything before it escapes to freedom, fully prepared to embarrass her.

Kate, to her credit, doesn’t let any of her exhaustion with the entire situation show through the smile on her face. “Busy, yeah. You mentioned. Rachel might’ve stolen you away from us, but we’re all doing fine. What’s bothering you?”

If that isn’t the million-dollar question, Max doesn’t know what is.

So many things are bothering her.

Too many things. Probably more things than Kate is really equipped to field. Max doesn’t actually have the first clue as to how close Kate is with either Rachel _or_ Chloe. _They’re nice_ is hardly something she can use as a gauge, here. And asking feels like something way too personal for lunch. It’s a dinner question. Or like, a panicked _hey, I know its 2 in the morning, but can you let me in, it’s cold out here_ sort of question.

Max, to her credit, at least manages to swallow that thought down before it gets the chance to spiral any further.

At least, it seems that way. For an instant. Until she opens her mouth. But the second she does, she trips and gets right back to stumbling her way down the path her problems are laying out like she never left at all. “Uh. A few things. Sort of. I – I should really set something up one of these days. Apologize to everyone.”

“No one is mad at you, Max. Now, what was it you wanted to talk about?” Asks Kate, still smiling and still listening.

She has the patience of a saint.

And she’s really getting some mileage out of that patience today, because Max is a _mess_ right now.

She breathes deep. And she tries again. “I gotta fix things with Brooke, especially… I think she hates me.”

Crap.

Strike one, two, and three, all in the same sentence.

“No one is mad at you,” Kate repeats, reaching out across the table and scooping up one of Max’s hands into her own. Still smiling. Still patient. “Come on, Max. This can’t be the whole reason you invited me out.”

Deep breaths.

Max has got this.

This is some Old Max behavior.

Old Max might’ve struck out, but lucky for her, New Max is here to save the day! New Max is going to answer Kate’s question. New Max is going to stop worrying about Brooke. New Max isn’t going to act like an idiot.

“…I should really try to do something for Brooke, though.”

Okay, screw you too, New Max! You’re out of here for good!

“ _Max,_ ” Kate finally breaks and starts giggling so hard that she pulls a bit of attention from the other customers. She covers her mouth to try and hide it, but it really has no effect. And somehow _that_ is the thing to finally snap Max out of it.

“…Ugh. Sorry, Kate,” she groans and buries her face into her arms, collapsing onto the table. Those stares definitely aren’t going anywhere after her contribution here, but Max also definitely doesn’t care.

She’s got bigger issues. Bigger, stupid, sexy issues.

Explaining those issues isn’t exactly the easiest thing, but she tries. You know, without actually admitting that she has an enormous crush on both Rachel and Chloe, and that seeing them both together and happy has really done absolutely nothing to dampen that feeling. Which sucks. You don’t just go and have crushes on two people at the same time. So, all she really manages to get out is that she’s thankful for Rachel’s friendship, even with what Rachel told her about why they started talking in the first place. And how she’s thankful that Chloe doesn’t seem to hate her. Even though she said that she hates her. The details on that one are still a little foggy.

Their entire situation is just… a mess. Not even a familiar sort of mess. Chloe is involved, but this is hardly the sort of Chloe mess she’s used to. It feels like they’re both hiding something from her. Something important. Rachel is a mystery so complex that Max can’t even begin to imagine solving it, but Chloe is easier. She’s always been easier. She still has the same tells. And that’s how Max knows. She’s holding something back. And _of course_ Max doesn’t want to pry, but it’s so weird!

It’s weird!

Being the focus of so much completely and totally unfiltered affection every time she’s around either of them, and still feeling like she’s being kept at arm’s length?

Very weird!

Too weird!

“Well, I don’t exactly have experience with any of that,” Kate grins, breathing out a laugh even when Max’s flustered frustration turns on her. “But you seem happy when you’re with Rachel. And you’ve told me enough about Chloe for me to guess that you probably feel the same way about her.”

“But like – I just… there’s something… _ugh!_ ” Max grumbles and drops her face back into her arms.

“Okay, Max. Let’s try this. You _do_ like Rachel, right? And Chloe, too?”

“So much.”

“And you’ve been happier with both of them in your life?”

“ _So_ much happier.”

Kate pauses for a short moment, then. Maybe for emphasis, maybe because the point she thinks Max should understand has instead gone flying entirely over her head. Max isn’t sure which one it’s meant to be.

“Okay, how about this? Do you think, Max,” Kate starts again. She’s got that smile in her voice. _That_ smile. The big sister smile. Max never thought she’d be on the receiving end. Betrayer. “Like, _really_ think, that either of them would lie if you asked about this?”

The loud, impulsive, _I’m always right and everyone is out to get me_ part of Max’s brain screams _yes_ at the top of its lungs.

The rest of Max, fortunately, has the strength to ignore that and voice the correct answer.

“No… They wouldn’t.”

“And that’s because they’re happier with _you_ in their lives. This problem will find its place in yours sooner or later, Max. You just have to let it.”

The benefit to having her reaction hidden from view in that moment is that Kate doesn’t get to see the face she pulls, all scrunched up and confused and not really doing anything to help her pull away from this whole extended pouting session.

Kate’s advice is familiar.

Like, painfully so.

Max should know why that advice is familiar.

And then she remembers.

A warm Saturday morning. The smell of eggs and bacon – the eggs undercooked and runny and the bacon so crispy it may as well have been charred. Sneaking out of bed before Chloe got a chance to notice. William. Still there. Still alive. Recognizing Max entirely by the sound of the stairs and asking, in that way of his – like he knew the answer already but would never _dream_ of taking away Max’s chance to explain herself – how Chloe would ever let her escape so early.

 _William_ , she remembers asking, _how… do you know… can you be allergic to a person? Like, even if they’re your best friend?_

It was a crush. She knew it was a crush. But she felt guilty about it being a crush, too. Chloe was her best friend, and – as far as she could tell, from the way people whispered around school – girls didn’t just _do_ that.

But William looked at her in that moment like she was as transparent as glass. Max remembers the way he opened his mouth to reply, and instead just sighed, and chuckled, and smiled as he ushered Max out of the kitchen and over to the table. There was a lot of joking. A lot of teasing. He always liked dancing around the subject whenever Max brought up something serious. At least until she was calm enough to hear his answer without firing back a million and a half excuses.

Most of the conversation faded away into the fog of her memories a long, long time ago, but she does still remember the advice he gave.

 _Max. Kiddo, a genius like you is smart enough to know it’s not allergies,_ he smiled, and Max didn’t really have any choice left but to admit defeat, _you’ve got to let those feelings find a place in your life or you’ll be running from them forever. Can you imagine? Chloe might be a skater, but between you and me, she’s not much of a runner. At the first sign of a hill, you’d lose her completely!_

Back in reality; back in the middle of whatever the hell her current problem is, Max pauses for a moment. Maybe if William had just taken her at face value that day, she might not be stuck here. She’d have boy problems. About boys. Like a normal person.

Then again, probably not.

Chloe has always burned as bright as the sun and the stars. Way too bright for Max to ever consider forgetting about her. Or replacing her with someone new. Even in some alternate timeline where she’s still in denial about herself, that sounds about eight different kinds of unlikely. Her brain would still manage to find some way to explain girls to the rest of her.

But that isn’t the problem right now.

Old Max, New Max, and Max Max are all _really_ going to need to have a sit down and talk about their collective focus issues at some point.

Invest some skill points into something useful for once. Like, conversation…alism… Or being able to understand her feelings.

Or strength.

That’s always a good one. Strength.

“Kate, where did you – ”

“I know that might sound like a non-answer,” Kate interrupts, still smiling and already placating like she thinks that’s the sticking point here. “But a, um… friend, gave me the same advice once, when I really needed to hear it. It sticks with you, I promise.”

It does.

Max is more than a little familiar with that fact.

But it doesn’t help right now. No matter how well intentioned the advice is, remembering that Chloe has managed to dig herself so deeply into the foundations of life around Arcadia Bay only reinforces the idea that she’s keeping Max at arm’s length. And that she’s never going to tell Max why that is.

Though, maybe she can work with that. Maybe she can turn this around into something good.

Positive thinking.

Let it find its place.

Max can do that. She can think positive. She’ll never get caught up in an anxiety loop like Old Max, or New Max, or the other one.

She can do this!

~*~

Rachel is on top of Chloe the second the door swings shut. Teeth at her throat, hands slipping under her shirt, and oh, no, wait actually, there goes her shirt. And her jacket. It’s all Chloe can do to keep her head. To keep her hands from making some impulsive decisions of their own.

“What was it you promised me earlier?” Rachel whispers, husky and slow and low against Chloe’s ear. “More of last night?”

A strangled _yeah_ is just about the only thing Chloe can manage in response.

Shit.

Maybe she should have tried a little harder to find an excuse to stay in bed. She didn’t think it was this much of a thing for Rachel. Chloe is usually completely alone on that front, it feels like.

“Mmh,” Rachel hums, suddenly pulling away with a mischievous grin and a pat on the cheek. “Well too bad, I want to watch some TV and cuddle.”

For a moment, Chloe stays frozen, leaning against the door and trying to remember the last time Rachel fucked her around this bad.

But she does laugh.

A lot, actually.

More than she probably should. “God, you’re such a fucker.”

Her shirt gets thrown straight into her face before Rachel says anything else, so Chloe really only gets to _hear_ it when Rachel plops herself into bed, and somehow manages to work that grin even deeper into her voice. “Mhm! I believe that has been _well_ established at this point. C’mere, c’mere.”

“May as well,” Chloe grouses, sliding down to the floor until she’s sitting in a pile of useless emotions and tugging her top back on for the second or, maybe third – she’s not entirely sure – time today. “I’ve got too much invested in you to just leave.”

“I like the sound of that. You make me sound like I’m gold, Chlo. Oh, or maybe _diamonds,_ ” Rachel teases and prods as she waits for Chloe to join her.

But Chloe stops as soon as she’s hovering inches away from Rachel’s face, leaning in close, tiny smirk and all. “I was thinking more like oil. Greasy, and awful, and it stains _everything_ , but it’s just too damn valuable to ignore.”

Rachel smiles.

She pulls Chloe the rest of the way down.

And she taps the remote against Chloe’s head.

“Before I forget,” Rachel says, rolling Chloe off and onto her back. She climbs up to straddle her now that Chloe is too distracted to put up anything remotely resembling resistance. “You’re not getting out of telling me what happened with Stepfuck any longer. You’re safe, right? …Max too? Everything is okay?”

The way she asks: her voice full of hesitance and something so close to fear that Chloe barely recognizes the sound after so many years without it, answers every mystery that she’s been trying to solve since last night. Ever since Rachel started clinging to her so desperately. Fuck. She left Rachel to worry for nearly an entire week. No wonder she’s been so… this. So intense. Three years, and she’s never managed to mess up something so fundamental to how they function so fucking badly. She’s ruined a lot. Nearly every other part of their relationship. But never this.

Never this.

So she tells Rachel every single thing that happened. Every little detail that she wants to know, no matter how small or unimportant. About how seeing Max stand up for her without a shred of concern for her own wellbeing was seriously, genuinely, the most amazing thing Chloe had seen since the night she met Rachel at a concert and domed a guy with a beer bottle. About how they spent hours together at the junkyard because Chloe was still in something close to shock and had no clue how else to calm Max down from _her_ panic and adrenaline fueled high other than to take her far, far away from that house. And about why she was in Max’s dorm that morning. How Max – that tiny little freckle of a girl – said she would take on Chloe next if she so much as _thought_ about going back home.

“That girl is mystery after mystery,” Rachel smiles and hums, brushing her fingers gently through Chloe’s hair. “Every time I think I’ve got her pinned down, something changes.”

Chloe could say Max has always been like that. Because really, she has. But whatever Max went through alone over those five years away, and whatever Rachel and Max went through together in those months before Rachel decided it was time to finally throw Max headfirst back into her life had a bigger impact than Chloe really thought was possible.

It’s still buried just underneath the surface and the lingering traces of the Max she remembers, but she got… Max is…

Fuck.

So, yeah, she could say that.

But it’s probably not the best answer right now.

“She’s had a good teacher,” she decides on instead. She pulls Rachel’s hand down and kisses gently at her knuckles when the only response that comment gets her is Rachel barking out a single loud, harsh laugh. “Anyway, she turned on some shitty sci fi movie that she borrowed from one of her nerd friends. Crashed right after getting everything set up, too. Fell asleep on top of me and made me watch the whole thing myself. Just like old times.”

“Cute.”

“I’m tough.”

“You let a tiny, tiny girl cuddle up right next to you and didn’t move because you were scared to wake her, your toughness is up for debate,” Rachel smirks and taps Chloe on the jaw. “So, did you get a chance to tell her about what you’ve been up to the past few years before you hopped into bed with her?”

Chloe blinks.

Okay.

Left field.

She’s missing something here.

“No…?”

It’s seeing Rachel’s barely hidden irritation over that answer; the way she tenses; the way she only tries with everything in her to keep it hidden behind a thin cover of confidence as she pulls away, that reaffirms that feeling. She’s definitely missing something. The only problem now is figuring out exactly what that something _is._

And what Max has to do with that something.

Like, yeah, okay, she’s hardly been subtle about letting this crush roar back to life, but it’s not as if that’s enough to make it go anywhere. Especially not just because they shared a bed. Stepshit isn’t exactly aphrodisiac material. And, they shared a bed all the time as kids. Besides, Max is straight. Probably. This all definitely, for sure, maybe, probably seems like friend shit to her. So it doesn’t matter how much of a threat to her sanity Max can be when Chloe isn’t even on that girl’s radar in the first place. There’s just no way. There’s no way she’s noticed exactly how hopeless Chloe has been since she got back.

This is a Chloe problem. Not a Rachel and Chloe problem.

“Okay. Why not?” Rachel asks. But it’s really not a question.

So Chloe sits up, laughing in – fuck, probably disbelief? Confusion? She’s still kind of clueless as to what she did wrong. Or how she did it wrong. “…Why’s it matter? It’s not like that was the first night we ever spent together.”

Another wrong choice, it turns out.

Rachel cycles through an entire gauntlet of emotions in the barest flash of a second. All of them riding a line that leads straight into a glare that says _please tell me you’re not about to make me explain this like you’re a child, Chloe._ But guess what? Rachel is going to have to explain this to her like she’s talking to a child. Because Chloe is too absolutely god damn lost to understand what’s happening.

At the very least, Rachel does level herself out after that. She seems to at least vaguely understand where Chloe is at.

She sits up. She slides over to Chloe’s side. Reaches over to touch her waist. Breathes deep. Centers herself. “Okay. Okay. So, you know what Max is like.”

“I think we just decided that neither of us actually know what she’s like, but, yeah.” Chloe nods, smiling a little hesitant smile.

“Don’t – don’t do that right now, Chloe. Please.”

In any other circumstance she might consider pushing back. Might just come out and ask what the fuck Rachel’s problem is.

But the way Rachel’s hand moves against her back, fingers dragging and flexing, fighting to avoid closing into a fist, tells Chloe to stay quiet. She catches Rachel’s eyes, and something deep; something at the core of everything that they are threatens to break. It’s holding a hammer overhead and fucking threatening to swing and leave both of them so stranded and shattered that neither of them could even pretend to be in control anymore.

~*~

Blackwell campus is absolutely empty.

There are at least a few people trying to get work done out in the main yard, but the closer they get to the dorms, the less they see.

It’s why the first few people to pass them by in a hurry aren’t all that suspicious to Max’s mind. It’s the weekend, it’s the afternoon, she figures everyone probably has plans. Sunday plans. People have Sunday plans, right?

Right.

Yeah. She went out with Kate today. Sunday.

Normal.

Kate seems to disagree. She even seems to think something is wrong when they see a second group. She tightens her grip on her bag and makes an effort to stay a little bit closer to Max’s side.

Max still isn’t sure.

The third group makes a convincing case, at least.

Because Kate seems to recognize someone and whispers something that sounds an awful lot like _oh no_. Because the third group comes with more than a few pitying stares.

They’re in the stairwell, barely a few steps from their floor, when Max finally realizes what that was all about.

~*~

“Max! It’s Max! Max is the thing you did wrong here, Chloe!” Rachel shouts, the frustration in her voice drowning out every thought in Chloe’s head except complete and total confusion over how they got here. The path from point A to point B in these arguments always seems a little blurry to her. Even when she’s the one on the other side. “You can’t – you can’t just get into bed with someone like her and refuse to give the slightest, tiniest, miniscule _scrap_ of effort to explaining the history you’re bringing with you ahead of time! She is an absolute angel, and she deserves better than a lie this fucking massive!”

Chloe isn’t about to touch that one.

The reasons she has for jumping from bed to bed whenever things with Rachel blow up aren’t exactly Max’s business. And they’re definitely not the sort of shit she would ever want to bring up around Max. Least of all when she’s in the middle of using Max for a few of those very same reasons. Warm bodies and warm beds might be a shitty cure for loneliness in the long run, but short-term thinking is a great cure for that.

Max deserves better than to end up being just another one of those girls.

“I know I haven’t had time to give you _the talk_ , Chloe,” Rachel goes on, totally unfazed by Chloe’s silence. “You know, the one about what sort of things it’s okay to hide with a girl like that, but I figured I wouldn’t have to! I thought you might act like a god damn adult and not just fucking avoid this problem like it doesn’t exist!”

“Fuck off,” Chloe grunts. But it has no impact. No bite.

And Rachel, being Rachel, doesn’t let Chloe get away with a reply that damn worthless. “No! Chloe, I wanted you to be the one to tell her! Before shit around here goes the way that it always does! What’s gonna happen when she finds out from someone else about everyone you’ve fucked? Imagine what that looks like to her. You’ll have her thinking she’s just another one of those girls to you! That’s all of her trust _gone_ in one fucking night! You know she’s smart enough to figure out it on her own, why would ignore a chance like that?”

And. Well. Fuck.

Fuck.

Rachel has a point. It’s not anything she ever wanted Max knowing, but with the way this place is, she would find out eventually. She didn’t even consider that fact at the time. And, fuck, with her luck Max probably already knows. Max probably already hates her guts.

But she can at least fix _this_. This fight. She can salvage this and admit that she made a mistake. She can avoid saying anything else stupid.

“Oh, like the shit you’re lying about is any different.”

 _Fuck_.

Her brain is on a mission to fuck her in the mouth, today.

Rachel _yells_. Like she hasn’t in years. “It is _not_ the same, Chloe! Don’t you even fucking start.”

“Isn’t it?” Chloe shouts back before she can stop herself, and she knows; she understands with a crystal clarity that only comes around once in a lifetime how big the mistake she’s about to make truly is. But that’s life, she guesses. Knowing you’re about to fall off a cliff doesn’t mean you have the strength not to trip. “You ran off to Frank _minutes_ after throwing her at me, how are you any fucking better?”

Everything crashes to a halt.

Try as she might, she can’t reverse time. She can’t take those words back. She could hardly even keep them down in the first place. So. Now she gets to live with it.

Now she gets to live in a reality where she kicked straight through her self-control to set foot in the one place they never, ever go. Under any circumstances. For any reason. Whatsoever. Now, Chloe gets to fucking stew in this mistake. As if she wasn’t doing bad enough already, ignoring Rachel’s incredibly correct point just because her tone felt like an undeserved insult. They both know exactly what Frank is like. It isn’t Rachel’s fault. Not the lying. Not the hiding. None of it. Ever. Not back before they were together. Not back when Rachel was a child naïve enough to get lured in by promises of escaping into the sunset and the idea that she might find true love at the end of a line of coke if she _just looked hard enough_. Not back when they first met. Not at any single point in their relationship. Not then, and not now. Not after years of firsthand experience with the danger he poses. The threats that he is more than willing to make and twice as capable of fulfilling on the tiniest of whims.

Cold sweat, chills down your spine, figure out whether you can deadbolt the boards you just put up on a window sort of threats.

Chloe just had to go and say it anyway. She just had to go and blame the most important person in her life for being too scared to leave that violent, abusive sack of shit. All because Rachel was, what, too stern with her? Too worried about Max? Because Rachel was _right,_ and Chloe didn’t want to hear it?

Who fucking knows.

The only sure thing right now, is that she gets to live with it.

“It,” Rachel’s voice drops lower. Her voice is ice cold as she talks. Steady. Furious. “Is not. The same. You do not _ever_ get to – ”

Chloe deserves that. She deserves worse.

But she can’t stop. Even after the rest of her bullshit, the desire to cut Rachel off and take the last word for herself out of some petty desire to _win_ this _something_ that barely even qualifies a fight is punching itself free too fast to stop.

“Or what? Or what, Rachel? We’ll never talk again? Until we do?” The words hurt coming out. They burn tracks up her throat and dry out the inside of her mouth. It would, Chloe thinks, be sincerely, genuinely, honestly, incredible if she could stop herself anymore. “We’ll fight a bit more, and then you’ll kick me out, and then one of us – probably you – will end up drinking ourselves sideways and trying to break in through a window in the middle of the night like the god damn pussy fairy? Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.”

“Fine. Fuck you, too. If this is the game you want to play, Chloe, then we can play,” Rachel laughs, and it sounds _awful_. The tears she’s holding back are right there at the edge of her voice, and the whole thing sounds so bitter, and sad, and disgusting. And it’s all Chloe’s fault. “You can keep pretending you’re being the better person here. That I’m being unreasonable. You can keep trying to shout your way past everything I say. That’s fine. Just remember that I’m not the one pretending to be someone else for a girl I used to know. That girl – _our friend_ – is in love with you. Head over heels, fairytale romance, happily ever after love. And you can’t even do her the courtesy of admitting that the person she’s in love with doesn’t exist anymore. But what the fuck do I know, right? I’ve only spent a few months with her. You’re the expert here.”

Only then. Only after Rachel deflates to the point that she can’t even manage to raise her voice; to the point that she falls back into her bed, tired and slow and still fighting back tears, does it all finally catch up to Chloe.

It feels like someone sealed off the room and forcefully sucked out every last trace of oxygen. The fight in her is just… gone. The fire fueling this whole argument is choked out, fizzled away so fast that there wasn’t even a chance to go out with smoke and sparks and a smoldering that refuse to die on anyone’s terms but her own.

What the fuck is she doing?

She can’t do this.

She can’t be here right now. She needs to go. Away. Doesn’t matter where, as long as it gives her a chance to breathe and to figure out how to fix every last god damn thing that she broke today.

~*~

Max can barely make out Kate’s voice. She might be tugging on her sleeve. Maybe that’s the thing she’s feeling.

“I – Max isn’t…” Chloe sounds like she’s choking. Max can practically hear her stumbling back and away with nothing to go on other than the way she says those words. “Go fuck yourself, Rachel.”

The door slams open so hard it feels for a second like it might break straight off the hinges. And Kate says something else.

But all Max can see, or hear, or understand is Chloe. Standing in the hall. Staring directly at her.

She feels horrified.

Chloe looks guiltier than she has ever looked in her life.

And then she starts moving. She shoulders her way past Max, and out the door, and down the stairs, and Max is tripping and falling back into the wall.

Rachel steps out of the room next, looking absolutely broken.

Max has never seen her like that before.

She almost didn’t think it was possible.

“Max,” Kate tugs a little harder this time, finally finding the magic amount of force needed to drag Max’s attention away from the room. “Come – Max, come on. Let’s get you out of the hall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure it's fine.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “After everything else lately, seeing that little shit act like the biggest creep on the planet just made something snap, you know? Like, you deserve better than that… that…”
> 
> “Dick,” Brooke offers without missing a beat.
> 
> “Dick!” Taylor huffs, too emotional and very nearly out of breath with the effort it takes. She chugs what’s left of her coffee to try and cover the whole thing up, but all she actually manages in the end is burning her throat and tumbling into a coughing fit so bad that she probably looks worse than she has in ages.

Quiet.

If you asked, that’s how Taylor would describe Blackwell ever since that last string of bullshit. Of course, she was a few hours away from finally caving and saying the same thing _before_ the fight, too, so that probably doesn’t count for much in the grand scheme of things. Everyone plugging their ears and closing their eyes to the tension, absolutely refusing to let themselves be suspicious in any way was finally starting to get to her. Kind of hard to be the only one on campus preparing for everything to fall apart. Optimism is fine and all, but not if you have to ignore reality to have it.

Anyway though, things _have_ been quiet.

Chloe seems to have up and vanished into the ether.

If you asked, Taylor would say the subject matter of that last fight might have had something to do with it. No one has managed to spot Chloe anywhere around town. Not even once. Though, people definitely claim to. In their played up, ridiculous ways. She’s basically become some sort of small-town cryptid for everyone waiting and hoping for the other boot to drop now that the first one has gotten lodged into the imaginary wall of this metaphor. As if the arguments and the fallout are all just some uncontrollable, larger than life force of nature. As if finding Chloe works on the same principle as a groundhog seeing its shadow.

Blue hair speeding down the street? She’s definitely coming back soon. The flash of a shitty, rusted out truck in someone’s rearview mirror, gone before they can check again? Another two weeks of quiet before things go back to normal.

A stray beanie floating in the breeze. Like a ghost. Or an empty shopping bag.

There wasn’t any prediction to go along with that particular sighting, it’s just managed to stick itself in Taylor’s head through sheer force of stupidity.

Gossip surrounding Chloe usually ends up going that way, just, not usually to that extreme. Maybe one day this town will give her a chance. Maybe one day she’ll finally manage to escape. Taylor isn’t ashamed to admit she’s spent almost their whole lives wishing on the second option. Back when they were kids, and back when they were first graduating to high school and taking that first step toward adulthood. Hell, even a short three years ago, a time so recent she can remember every major event like it was yesterday and still so long ago that those memories are from a time before… fuck, _everything_ , Chloe was always one of the few people who felt too good for this dying shell of a fishing town.

No one in their loose circle of kids that had the poor fortune to be born here and unable to escape after high school deserves to be stuck in the ways that they are. And they all know it. It’s an unwavering sort of connection keeping them at least vaguely linked together even as they try their hardest to grow apart and strain the walls of Arcadia Bay to their breaking point.

Their Blackwell classmates don’t really factor in.

They’re tourists at best. Here for a visit; here for a few years to take what they can and then run off into the sunset. And if one or two of the misery kids manage to hitch a ride out with a Rachel or a Victoria, all the better. It means the rest of them have a chance. It means those invisible walls aren’t so sturdy, after all.

But. _The rest of them_ is the whole point, here. They all had to grow up watching Arcadia wither away. None of them deserve this. It’s just that, even within that miniscule slice of people, Chloe is something else. Her history trapped inside this particular prison; the story she’s created, surrounded by the skeletons of old canning factories and the run-down, rotting boatyards framing every corner of town is something the rest of them are lucky to have avoided.

She deserves escape far more than the rest of them.

That said, Chloe isn’t the only one acting out of character.

Rachel has been keeping to herself, too. Showers, classes, dorms. Every day. Like clockwork. Usually by now they’ve both thrown themselves into being as social as possible. Chloe gets everyone’s time after school, while Rachel runs the usual gauntlet of answering every question in every class, bouncing around the cafeteria during lunch, and partying when Chloe is sure to be absent. Sometimes, in extreme cases, she pulls a Chloe herself. She’ll go to her classes and refuse to stay on campus for any longer than is absolutely necessary.

No one knows for sure, because no one but Chloe knows the details of her relationship with Frank, but everyone assumes that that’s where she disappears.

Not this time.

Again, probably the subject matter.

Subtlety has never really fit the relationship that is Rachel and Chloe, but this fight seemed like more than a few sore spots being poked and broken bones getting strained.

Which leaves Max. Taylor wasn’t there when it happened, but she heard. She knows Max was there. And she knows that it’s probably why Max seems to have taken a page out of Chloe’s book. Turned into some sort of Blackwell Ninja. People see her in classes, and they see her in the cafeteria, but that’s about it. She doesn’t talk. She doesn’t make eye contact. No one has the first idea where she is or how she gets there in the time between. She doesn’t answer texts. Or calls. Or even knocks at her door.

Taylor always knew Max’s involvement in their lives would end up turning all trial by fire eventually, but she _also_ always figured they would give her a bit more time to get accommodated. Or at least, you know, that they wouldn’t go and show their entire asses by dumping every bit of their Max related baggage out in front of God, and three floors of the Blackwell dorms, and Max herself.

But they did. Do that.

They threw Max into the deepest deep end imaginable.

Do or die time, Max. You’ve got this.

Everyone’s cheering for you.

Well. Wait. No. Actually. It’s probably just Taylor, if she’s being honest.

The general consensus around here is probably sitting a bit closer to something like _no one will blame you if you pick now to cut and run, Max,_ but that doesn’t exactly have the same motivational ring to it.

Anyway. Until Taylor can find Max, there’s really nothing to be done. So for now, it’s not her business and it’s not worth worrying about. For now, she’s got her own problem to try and fix. Even if her own problem came about because of this whole argument in the first place. Which, if nothing else, serves to drive home just how stupid the _ignore it and hope it gets better on its own_ mindset on display around campus is. Everyone’s problems are wrapped up in everyone else’s. Our bullshit is your bullshit, and neither kind of bullshit gets any better until someone puts in the work to fix it.

So: time to sneak out before Victoria finds her.

Because ever since the fight, Vic has been almost shy around Max. None of that roundabout help she normally has ready to go and lined up behind four or five perfectly rehearsed insults. No, Rachel and Chloe have been the sole targets of that behavior lately. And Taylor has been the sole audience. What with the three of them trying as hard as possible to stay hidden.

Whatever though, if it keeps her from making a bigger mess of things, Taylor can put up with this particular frustration as long as it takes. Vic will figure out a healthier way to vent eventually. She’s already making steps.

Taylor just needs a break first. One afternoon to recharge. That’s all. Then she’ll be ready to listen. And sneaking off into town for some food sounds too many kinds of appealing to count, right now.

“I really think Max should hear it, though.”

Okay.

Hold up.

Taylor pauses at the end of the hall. Stops herself from heading down the stairs to turn and listen through Dana’s door, barely cracked open as it is. Freedom can wait, this is probably important.

“…Yeah. Well, let me know, Katie. I’m here if she ever does want to talk.”

Oh.

Well, that’s nice. It’s good to know she’s not alone in wanting to help after all. Taylor just sort of assumed Dana’s recent interest in Max was more of a renewed interest in Chloe by proxy of Max, but, anyway. Dana is an angel when she wants to be.

This is good for Max. This is nice.

Significantly less nice is what Taylor finds when she finally makes it outside. Max is coming back from… somewhere. She’s wearing her usual uniform of jeans and a hoodie, so maybe her classes ran late? Maybe she was getting help with something? It doesn’t really matter, but it’s still a little weird to see her _going_ somewhere rather than already at one of those somewheres. And unfortunately, Taylor isn’t the only one to notice. Warren, back turned and deep in conversation with Brooke on the other side of the courtyard, straightens up like his Max spidey-senses are tingling and takes off at a jog – like, an actual fucking _jog_ – from whatever that was so quickly that Taylor wouldn’t be surprised to learn he dropped a few unfinished sentences right where he stood.

Max sees him coming without even needing to look. Though to be fair, everyone else outside does too. Everything about her tenses and shrinks inward, even as she tries, and fails spectacularly, to school her expression into something calm and welcoming. She almost manages a smile. Almost manages relaxed. Almost manages eye contact.

And poor Brooke is left in the dust, completely crushed and helplessly half-following after Warren like she can’t quite decide whether she wants to give up and try another day or storm over and punch him in the dick.

The entire thing is like a scene straight out of an awful late nineties sitcom.

Brooke even has her hair down and her contacts in! Brooke never does either of those things!

This blind _dipshit_!

None of this. Not today. Taylor isn’t entirely sure what she plans to do when she gets there, but she’s interrupting all of this one way or another.

Luckily, the anger shoving her closer and closer decides on an outcome just in time. It gives her presence an intimidating enough tint that Warren’s spidey-senses flare up for _her_ , too. It cuts off the slimy bullshit he’s spewing about _I heard what happened the other day,_ and _it sucks how those two were just using you,_ so suddenly that the words die in his throat with a pronounced yelp. It gets him scrambling to spit out something about how Max is probably busy and he should go, before it sends him tripping over his own feet and running off to safety. Taylor doesn’t exactly care to watch him any further than that. Good riddance.

When he’s gone, Max sighs, her entire body going slack in a single exhale like she was propping herself up on nothing but the fumes of some desperate, defensive adrenaline she found at the bottom of an energy drink.

“Thank you,” Max whispers. She sounds _tired._ But she also doesn’t leave just yet. Something keeps her there; something keeps her working up the courage to keep talking. Something else sitting on the edge of her lips, too worried to jump and too scared to fall. But she’s earned Taylor’s patience by now. She’s earned more than that. So much more, given recent events. But patience is obviously what she needs, so patience is what Taylor will give. And before too long, Max does find a way to express that something. “I’m sorry I didn’t understand what you were talking about the other week. With, um, at the party, I mean.”

Before Taylor gets a chance to reply, or to even place the moment in question, Max is gone.

And then she remembers.

So she sighs.

Great.

As if the aftermath of everything wasn’t weird enough this time around, apparently, on top of everything else, Max thinks it was her fault.

This is all a mess.

“Brooke?” Taylor asks, frustratedly digging the heels of her palms into her eyes as she lets her head drop back. She throws the words over her shoulder in some vague hope that she’s not standing alone and talking to herself like an idiot. “You still here?”

Brooke grunts. Once.

Good enough.

Taylor lets her arms fall back down, swinging, and slowing, and settling into place. “Come on. We’re gonna go grab some food.”

All Taylor hears, still uninterested in turning or opening her eyes, is Brooke sighing, long-winded in that way only someone who’s been totally and completely wrung out could manage. Brooke gives voice to those feelings until every last bit of air is gone from her lungs. When that’s finished, she starts shuffling around, looking for something to use as an excuse or an escape until the only option left is to suck in a harsh breath.

And Brooke answers like she just finished running a mental simulation of every possibility that could potentially get her out of this, only to learn there was never any other choice. “ _Fine._ ”

~*~

Taylor’s plan to find an actual meal dissolves almost as soon as they hit the edge of town. They’re both frayed and on edge enough after the past few days to pretend that picking up a snack as if it’s just as filling as any of the could-have-been possibilities is the best they can really hope for right now. So they end up at the first corner store they pass and sit together out on the curb with nothing else but that mutual sense of emptiness and two dollars’ worth of the first things the set eyes on after heading inside. For Taylor, bitter, burnt coffee in a paper cup with no lid and no holder. Nothing to save her hands from the heat.

Brooke gets a stale donut.

There’s probably some sort of poetry in there. Somewhere. You’d have to look harder than Taylor is really willing to right now.

About halfway through that awful – just truly horrible – cup of coffee, Taylor breaks. She’s always been the first one to break. Brooke had a talent for stubborn silence back in high school, and it’s only gotten better with time. Or, maybe worse. Perspective.

Regardless, she barrels ahead. “That Warren guy is an _asshole._ ”

That just barely manages to get Brooke to grunt around a mouthful of donut and nod, slow, and confident, and sure. So, progress. Progress?

 _Progress_.

“Hang, uh,” Taylor starts and stops in nearly the same instant. Shit. This got hard again. “Hang in there, dude. You’ll… get through that thick skull of his eventually.”

Good attempt or not, _that_ manages to pull Brooke away. She turns her head like some kind of ancient, rusted out piece of machinery starting up for the first time in years; that particular kind of sluggishness that only ever accompanies the kind of surprise that may as well have shut down all power to think in someone’s head. She turns, and she gapes like Taylor just grew a second head. Or started speaking in tongues.

“Okay. Not that I don’t appreciate the free shitty donut and all, but why am I here, Taylor?” she asks. Fair. Fair question. “First time you’ve spoken to me in a year and it’s about someone else that you’ve never talked to either. What’s the matter? Those gayer, greener pastures Icky Vicky swept you away to looking a little less green lately? Grass going dead? Undergrowth issues? _Over_ growth issues?”

Taylor just stares.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I’ve seen you hanging around outside my room pretending like you’re not psyching yourself up,” Brooke adds, and Taylor keeps on staring. “Uh uh. Not _that_ look, either. Don’t tell me you think it’s been long enough that I’ve forgotten all your tells?”

Taylor works her mouth.

Open, closed. Searching for an answer.

Open.

Closed.

And she coughs a bit, leaning forward with a nervous smile. It’s been awhile since she’s felt this exposed. What Vic does to her is something so different she almost forgot that it could be nice to feel this way. “Well, good to see you haven’t changed.”

The single pat on her shoulder Brooke gives before leaning back to balance on her hands at least lets her know none of that was meant _entirely_ in the way she thought.

So, yeah. It’s a good sort of exposed.

“Fuck, Brooke, I don’t know,” Taylor tries. Pushes ahead. Because of course Brooke already knew what this was. It’s not exactly like she had any momentum before, but she’s not against letting this new current sweep her away, either. “After everything else lately, seeing that little shit act like the biggest creep on the planet just made something snap, you know? Like, you deserve better than that… that…”

“Dick,” Brooke offers without missing a beat.

“ _Dick!_ ” Taylor huffs, too emotional and very nearly out of breath with the effort it takes. She chugs what’s left of her coffee to try and cover the whole thing up, but all she actually manages in the end is burning her throat and tumbling into a coughing fit so bad that she probably looks worse than she has in ages. But maybe it’s for the best. Because Brooke laughs. Like, _laugh_ laughs. For a moment, it almost feels like they’re both back in high school. Two nerds with no money, no fashion, a handful of shoplifted snacks, and a whole lot of Brooke’s terrible science jokes. And that helps Taylor relax enough to catch her breath and shoot back a hesitant smile.

“Well. Thanks, I guess. He probably deserved more than an angry look,” Brooke says, glancing slowly between a nearby group of house sparrows and whatever is left of her donut before finally giving up and picking away crumbs to resignedly toss over.

For a few minutes, it’s enough just to watch her work and accept the words for what they are.

But only a few. Quiet acceptance isn’t the name of the game today.

“So.” The word nearly catches in her throat, and for the shortest second, Taylor wonders if maybe, actually, quiet acceptance was the right choice here. But then, maybe it’s not. Probably not. No, definitely not. She might not fix anything; she probably _won’t_ fix anything, but you never know unless you try. And she already dragged Brooke this far. “I know you used to like calling Blackwell a den of lesbians – ”

“Still do, Den Mama.” The comment leaves Brooke’s mouth as easily as that last piece of donut flings itself toward the birds. Thrown into the air like something utterly weightless and just as meaningless.

“I – what.”

Brooke lets her head roll lazily across her shoulders until she’s looking back over at Taylor, studying her intently and smiling something big and smug the entire time. “We go to an art school. It is absolutely a den of lesbians.”

“Sure, but.”

“And you, Taylor, have made it your mission to fix up everyone’s shit. I haven’t had any recent peeks into that brain of yours, but I’d bet money it’s because there was no one there to help with the Victoria situation. Had to wade through all that gossip and graduate from minion to girlfriend all on your own. The old you would have been _pissed_ to watch someone go through all of that without any help. I can imagine what the new you must have thought. So, Den Mama.”

Taylor sits with that one for a bit. Because she needs a minute.

Maybe two, actually.

“Sorry, _minion_? Really?” she asks, just about as blunt as she can manage, once those three way-too-short minutes are up.

“What?” Brooke teases, light in her eyes and smirk still dancing across her lips. “Sometimes the gossip has point. You kinda were. Always did whatever she asked, anyway. Followed after her like a helpless little puppy and everything.”

“That was…” Taylor bites out on reflex, but she swallows the rest of the thought down as fast as she can. That was for a very good reason, is what it was. That was none of Brooke’s business, is what it was. Not hers. And not anyone else’s, for that matter.

But Brooke is still smiling, and that tone of hers hasn’t gone anywhere either. There’s still love in her voice, even if she _is_ using it to see exactly how far she can push. But then, that’s still Brooke.

“I’m just saying, you’ve come a long way from the Taylor that used to hide behind my shoulder during field trips and hated speaking in groups.”

“…Oh.”

Has she really changed that much? Sure, she’s not exactly the same Taylor who grew up with Brooke at her side, but… is that really who she’s become? Someone who cleans up everyone else’s messes?

And, more importantly, is that a bad thing?

“It’s not a bad thing,” Brooke chuckles, lazy and relaxed, and she even starts patting Taylor on the shoulder in rhythm with her breath. “Better or worse, Victoria brought you out of your shell. And it turns out the you that was hiding in there is everyone’s mom now.”

Seeing Brooke happy, or, at least, laughing; joking; not angry at her, is enough to keep her grounded. Enough to remind her of why she’s here.

“Okay.” Sucking in a long breath, Taylor starts again. “Sure. Anyway. All I was gonna say was that…” And she cuts herself off with a chuckle of her own here; the things she actually meant to say finally registering somewhere on the fringes of her mind. “Just because all of your classmates like pussy doesn’t mean that they don’t also have experience with your specific relationship problems. People are willing to listen if you give them a chance.”

Brooke doesn’t answer immediately, but her eyes stay locked on Taylor’s. Her eyebrows scrunch up, tangled in either frustration or a particular confusion with that sentiment, and she chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip for a long, long moment. “Guess you’d know, huh?” she finally says, that expression making her look almost vulnerable in how little it changes.

“Of course. Haven’t you heard? I’m everyone’s mom,” Taylor jokes. Letting the silence that follows wash over her until they’re both calm and steady and content. “So uh, on that note, did you ever hear about how Vic and I got together? Like, _really_ got together?”

There is another suspiciously long pause before Brooke says anything else. “…I don’t need to hear the dirty details about how you two bone it up, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, Brooke, gross,” Taylor replies as fast as she can, nearly so fast that the words trip on their way out. Because, oh, right, it _did_ sound like that’s what she was asking. But Brooke is already cackling to herself. Because she knew what saying that would do. So Taylor kicks her playfully in the shin. And she starts again. “I was angry at her after everything that happened with Kate and Dana… And Rachel and… And, well, you were there. You remember how it went down.”

Brooke nods, her eyes drifting toward the sky.

“Fuck, I was even mad about what happened with you and me. I just never really saw that part until…” she trails off, gesturing at the clouds. She doesn’t need to look over this time to know that Brooke understands. “And, yeah. I told her that if she kept it up, it didn’t matter what she’d done for me, or how I felt in the past. I was leaving, and we’d have to be the last two people on earth for me to ever consider talking to her again.”

“…Yeah? Grew a little backbone, did you?” Brooke adds, the smallest spark of embarrassed hope starting to thread into her voice. The layer of sarcasm makes it difficult to pick out, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Taylor still recognizes the sound.

She can still hear it like it never left her life in the first place.

“Yeah. She just, like… _deflated_. All of the fight in her completely vanished like… it was there, and then it wasn’t. And something about the specific combination of me being angry and her looking so… sad, and confused, and… and pathetic just made me want to kiss her as hard as I could. Like, _I_ did that. To _her._ ”

Brooke stares. Just a little shocked, and more than a little confused.

And then she snorts

And laughs.

And Taylor takes that as a win.

“Christ. You two are something else.”

Though, maybe getting to hear her say _that_ is the real win. “We’re a mess. Everyone at Blackwell’s a mess. You’re surrounded by people who know exactly what it’s like to be in your position, don’t shrug that off like it’s nothing, right?”

“Yeah. Right,” Brooke snorts again. “Right. God. Warren. What a fucking asshole. I want to throttle that little shit sometimes, you know that? I keep thinking maybe he’d look at me then.”

“Fuck him,” Taylor offers.

“ _Fuck_ him,” Brooke echoes, full of an endless confidence in herself even as another round of small, breathy laughs start bubbling up. “Anyway, uh, that’s all you’re getting from me for now. Still not great this. How are – things between you and Queen Bitch alright lately? Got any other topical stories you’d care to share?” she asks after a pause. It isn’t quite an olive branch, but Taylor will take it, either way. It’s a step.

It’s progress.

Progress is enough.

On the drive back, there isn’t much left to say, but the quiet is lighter this time around. The mood isn’t as heavy. They make small talk about the parts of their lives they’ve missed. Parties, plans for next year, family news, that sort thing. And Brooke makes sure to get in one last comment before Taylor drops her off to start looking for a parking space.

“I’m sure, uh,” Brooke says, handing her phone off as she talks. As she does that thing she does where she gnaws gently at her lips trying to figure out which combination of words will leave her feeling the least vulnerable. “I’m sure someone’ll give me something to yell about soon enough.”

It takes Taylor a second, but she does piece together the meaning eventually: Brooke might not willing to believe that others care about her problems, but she’s at least willing to take that first step to let Taylor back in. And that’s something. So Taylor takes the phone, and she taps out her new number. She doesn’t comment on the fact that Brooke, it turns out, still had the old one sitting in her contacts after all this time.

But she does smile, watching Brooke pocket her phone once she hands it back.

And she does smile watching her go.

~*~

At about the same time that Taylor and Brooke are wrapping up the scene in the courtyard and finally heading for Taylor’s car, Max fumbles her way into her room, throws her hoodie off, and collapses face-first into her bed. Deep in thought and desperately in need of something to block out the rest of the world.

She might have seen one more day without accidentally running into Rachel as a success every day up until now, but today didn’t really feel those days. Not after that crap with Warren. _Using her._ Screw that. Screw him. Whatever answer she thought she owed him doesn’t matter anymore, he’s not getting it. And, no one was using her! Rachel _liked_ her! And _Chloe_ liked her! And Max liked… _still_ likes them.

To hell with whatever they were fighting about!

She’s going to fix this!

Or try at least. Or, maybe just figure out what her next step should be. She hasn’t actually planned out _anything_ , as far as what to do when this awkward dance they’re all in together finally comes to an end. But now that that moment is finally here, she can’t help wishing she had. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. Everything is bad until it’s not. You have to put in the work.

Scorched earth.

Start over from the beginning.

Etcetera.

Now she just has to figure out what the beginning _is_.

Maybe, she thinks, this would be easier if she goes over what she already knows.

According to everyone she’s asked – a grand total of Kate, and… uh, just Kate actually – Chloe always pops up sooner or later, but apparently, it’s never taken this long. Which is worrying. She’ll need to find Chloe if she wants to fix this. Especially because the idea of starting with Rachel feels a little scary right now. It’s not as if the idea of talking to Chloe is any better, or even any _easier_ , but it’s something she knows how to do. And that means it’s a respectable first step.

And that’s only what comes to mind before her thoughts drift over to the look in Rachel’s eyes that day.

Rachel was barely holding herself together. _Rachel_. Perfect, pretty, always happy and cheery and always aware of just what to say to fix everything and make everything better Rachel. If Max were in a cornier sort of mood, she might even call Rachel an angel. Not like a biblical, unknowable divine entity sort of angel or anything like that, but definitely the sort of angel that makes you feel warm, and safe, and… and cared for. Just by existing. Just by spending time with you. The sort of angel that makes you feel like the only other person in the world when she’s looking at you.

And, fixing _that_? That’s way above Max’s paygrade. She’s just a friend. Chloe’s the one with actual experience there.

Although…

Maybe this isn’t far enough back. Maybe if she keeps going. Just a few more mental steps down the metaphorical hallway.

Before all of this went down, she was thinking about finally asking. About everything. About what happened when she was gone. Five years is a long time. People change. And she knew clear as day the moment they saw each other again, that a _lot_ had happened Chloe during those five years. In fact, _a lot_ might even be an understatement.

And as much as she’d like to say otherwise, Chloe obviously isn’t an option right now. If she wants to be left alone, she’s got more ways to keep things that way at her disposal than Max is capable of dealing with right now. Five years’ worth of ways, in fact. It’s time to throw in the flag.

With Rachel, too. That’s its own sort of dead end.

At least for now.

There’s still one more way for her to find out. One that’s been right in front of her face all along. But she needs to move _now_. She needs to get up and wake up and get out of her room because she’ll lose all her courage if she waits any longer. So, she vaults back to her feet, and she checks herself in the mirror. Her hair isn’t _too_ much messier than normal. And her shirt isn’t _too_ wrinkly. _Good enough_ is the thought that propels her out the door and sends her sneaking down the hall to the room where her answers might be waiting. As quickly as she can. Just, not too fast. One awkward interaction with someone she doesn’t want to talk to is more than enough for one day.

“Dana?” Max calls out, knocking at the door in question. Quietly. So no one else but whoever’s inside can hear.

Fortunately, whatever doubts are still banging around in her head are dispelled as soon as Dana opens the door. She might be in a similar state to Max, hair down and frazzled and clothes all sorts of wrinkly, but she also seems to know exactly why Max is there. It’s in the way she smiles. The way she brushes her hand along the side of Max’s elbow and urges her inside the room. Even in the way she sits Max on her bed; getting her sinking into that ocean of blankets before wandering over to the couch on the opposite side of the room and patiently waiting for Max to explain. Giving her all the time and the space that she needs.

“Can you tell me a little about Chloe? And Rachel?” Max finally decides, swallowing so hard in the leadup that she thinks Dana might have even heard it. “You – you and Kate, obviously… I mean,” And she isn’t quite there yet, but Max can feel herself speeding up like she’s already falling back into those Old Max patterns. She can feel herself rushing toward that point where she doesn’t accomplish anything other than tripping over her words and her tongue and her lips, usually in that order. But she stops. Because, no. No. She can’t do this right now. She’s done with all of that. Old Max, New Max, Whatever Max are all just unique bags of problems, and none of them have been helpful. None of them have gotten to the core of the problem, so it’s time for her to just be _Max_. “Lately I’m just kind of… There’s things that I think I need to know, whether they want to tell me or not.”

“Anything specific in mind? Last I checked you were the one with all the gossip, Max,” Dana asks, real concern in her eyes and the curve of her mouth, and a tilt to her head that feels to Max an awful lot like Kate’s big sister voice.

“No, no I uh… I was gone. For – a really long time,” Max gestures vaguely around the room in something that almost feels it might have been a shrug.

Or at the very least a flail of her arms.

But Dana, in a way Max never expected – probably because she’s not all that close to Dana, but that’s a whole other conversation and a whole other line of thought that has no business roaring to life like it is – seems content to keep waiting for her to figure this out on her own. Like she doesn’t want to risk connecting dots when it isn’t her place. Doesn’t want to give up anything about her friends if she can help it. Nothing other than the details that Max needs.

Considerate.

That’s the word for it, Max realizes. She’s willing to talk, to give up whatever gossip and juicy secrets Max _needs_ , but nothing that comes from a place of want. Not if it hurts her friends.

Dana is good. She’s a good friend.

Max won’t push.

“You’ll need to give me a bit more to go on than that, Max,” Dana finally replies, because Max is so caught up in her head that she’s already forgotten that that’s a thing you’re supposed to do. Reply to questions when you’re having a conversation. Or when you initiated that conversation. Or when you trail off in the middle of a sentence.

So Max huffs out a breath, and she nods.

“Right.” Duh. She came here for a reason. “How about… you’re, you’re close to Chloe, right?”

“Mhm.”

God, Max envies that patience of hers.

But envy isn’t enough to steal it for herself. So when Max opens her mouth without thinking in the very next instant, blankly hoping that the right words will come tumbling out all on their own, cleanly removed from their packaging, pre-assembled, and all in the right order and everything, all she really ends up managing is a stuttered, stilted, “How are… uh… _how_?”

Which makes her endlessly thankful for Dana’s response being to lean back into the couch like those are the magic words she was waiting for all along. Or, at least – and Max figures it’s probably this, and not the first one given how much of a mess that sentence was – that they’re close enough to the magic words. And that would be great on its own, but then she raises a finger to her lips and says, “I think I can tell you that story, Max. You have to promise to keep this a secret though, alright?”

And if Max said that didn’t smooth out the rest of the wrinkles and the worries in her head, she’d be lying through her teeth.

Because the way Dana asks for permission and for trust sounds like the way someone grateful that they’re finally allowed to share a secret they’ve kept tucked away for years might ask; the way someone might ask after spending too many years keeping it to themselves and making sure no one will ever find it when all they’ve ever wanted was to talk about it.

To be asked about it.

“We’re starting at the beginning, right?” Dana questions, like this is Max’s one last chance to give up and run away. Like this is Dana’s one last chance at testing whether Max really wants to poke this particular bear with this particular stick in this particular room with this particular person.

But of course she does. It’s why she’s here.

Max nods.

She isn’t really sure she trusts herself to say actual words at this point.

“What those two have…” Dana starts, and almost immediately stops, angling her head up and to the side, gently chewing at her bottom lip as she searches for the right way to start explaining. It must be hard. “It’s _always_ been a little rough around the edges. Problems they never bothered sorting out, or tried to shove under the carpet, or just plain ignored. That sort of thing. Rach always says it’s because that’s just who they are. Chloe though, you get her high and she’s a little bit easier to squeeze the details out of. She says it’s because they’re so alike.”

A pause follows that admission that has Dana searching out for the right words all over again. The air feels too heavy, like a pressure weighing down on her chest with no intent to stop, for Max to feel comfortable interrupting. So she waits. She watches. She listens.

Finally, Dana squares her shoulders and meets Max’s gaze. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t real though. They’re… honestly, Chloe and Rachel are probably the only thing in the world you could call a real-life fairy tale.” The little hitch in her voice as she tries to bury down a smile doesn’t go unnoticed. It isn’t a happy smile. “No matter what they say.”

“…What about you?” Max dimly recognizes the sound of her own voice asking the question. Of the words coming out as a coherent thought, this time. Of her own mouth running on ahead and asking what the rest of her is too worn out to even think. Refusing to leave this unfinished now that the whole of her is in this deep. Dana hasn’t really answered anything, but Max is buckled up and locked in for the ride now. They can take this detour together. She’s not leaving. “What would you say?”

Dana sighs at the question, a wistful look in her eyes and the sad beginnings at that smile finally breaking free and twitching at the corners of her mouth.

“I think… This is just what happens when you’ve been with someone ever since you were fifteen and sixteen. I think this might be why their problems haven’t gone away, sure, but…” Dana admits.

And she pauses, already falling back into her thoughts.

Which starts Max wondering whether she’s misread the situation after all. If maybe she’s pushed Dana into something uncomfortable here. It isn’t out of the question to say she might have misunderstood Dana’s reactions and her silence up until now. And in that case, if that’s true, she should just cut her losses and count on Chloe and Rachel being out of her life for good. They had a good run. And the time she’s had with Chloe is more than she ever thought she could have again after so long away.

It was fun.

Maybe that’s enough.

She’s seconds away from saying so; from apologizing and leaving, when Dana finally finishes her thought.

“But… it’s not why they’re _there,_ you know? So, I – I think I would say different,” she says, slowly, and so softly that it nears the point of being a whisper.  “I would say Chloe probably never thought about liking women until she loved Rachel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Backstories for everyone!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But instead, she focuses in on Dana’s lips. She focuses in on how her lipstick – and, she really thought Dana wasn’t wearing any – is just slightly smudged, and how she’s drunk, and they’re high, and even though it probably was a line, this is how people are supposed to act when they’re one or two or both of those things together.
> 
> So, you know, to hell with worrying about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be one of the shortest chapters in this fic. I even went back and forth on combining it with chapter 7 for a bit, because the outline for it was seriously _that_ small. But then I started writing, and I kept writing, and now this 11k word mess of sad feelings and horny feelings exists. I'm only a little sorry.

Two years ago, during the fall of 2011, a message flashes across Kate’s phone.

She opens it, and realizes with a small pang of guilt that she never turned off her read receipts.

Well.

It shouldn’t bother Dana too much.

Because Kate sees it; she sees the message; her eyes follow the line of the sentence, the shape of the letters, and each individual word, but she doesn’t _read_ it. And before she can, the screen starts fading to black. It acts as a starting signal of sorts. Some silent, unintentional trigger that kicks off the beginning of her plans to turn the last few days’ thoughts into reality.

She carefully places her phone down on the bench, inches to her side and tucked up against her purse.

A wave crashes against the cliff just as she rises to her feet.

She spares one final glance toward the lighthouse.

~*~

Earlier that same night, on the opposite end of town, Chloe heads to a party.

“Fuck,” she bites out, more exhale than word as she fights to keep her jaw from clamping down on her cigarette just long enough to get her lighter to _work_.

It doesn’t.

Apparently, life doesn’t want her getting anything easy today.

But when has that ever stopped her before? Someone, somewhere probably said something about the value of persistence in the face of a broken lighter.

“Fuck. _Fuck,_ fucking _work!_ ” she hisses again, digging her thumb in deeper and deeper with every click of the wheel, every flash of impotent sparks that refuse to catch, and only just barely starting to take note of the distinct tremble in her hands. The one that she’s probably only got in the first place because she hasn’t had anything to eat in days. Low blood pressure. Or stress. Or adrenaline. Hell, maybe it’s all three. With her luck, it’s probably all three.

 _Saved Rachel._ Her. Chloe. Saving _Rachel Amber_ from anything. Right. Bull-fuckin’-shit.

She should’ve known better.

Just some god damn line. Just something to get Chloe fawning over her. Something to lure her in and lower her guard until Rachel could use her for reasons she’ll always be too poor and too stupid to understand. Like everyone else. Only worse, because this time, it worked.

Unlike her worthless, busted lighter.

She rips the cigarette out of her mouth, grinds it into the cheap piece of plastic garbage in her hands, and throws them both somewhere down the street.

She’ll walk the rest of the way to the party without it, then.

Fuck it.

~*~

So, smoking is off the table for now. Unfortunately. But given the stares she had to wade her way through the closer she got to this rich jackass’s mini-mansion, she’s not about to blame herself for being unable to let that one go. Every single person she passed was staring like they already know exactly who she is, and where she’s been, and why she’s here.

It would’ve come in handy, is the point.

Drinking will be a fine enough replacement, just, you know.

Different.

And it’s not exactly something she could have been doing on the way here.

But whining over lost chances doesn’t lead anywhere useful, so she makes sure to lose that line of thought before she reaches the door. She steps inside, works her way through the crowd, and finds her way toward the idiot playing at bartender in the kitchen. He’s always at these things. Like he just… comes with the houses. Like he’s just another bullet point on the list of advantages to living in the newest doomed to fail suburban housing project of Arcadia Bay. A view, clean carpets, and this one dipshit in particular thinking anyone actually wants him messing with their drinks when there’s a million other options scattered around.

You know, the big three things you look for when buying a house.

Chloe hasn’t ever bothered to learn his name.

Tonight isn’t going to be any different.

She grabs one of the bottles of beer he probably hasn’t managed to touch, downs the entire thing in one go, and _god_ if that doesn’t finally get her to relax. Which means it’s time for to dive back into the shit. Maybe drown out her feelings with some dancing. Maybe find someone she knows and get high, or at least get a functioning lighter to steal when they’re not looking.

That’s the plan, at least.

But being in this sort of environment without Rachel at her side, without Rachel’s hands all over her, and Rachel’s voice doing that _thing_ that always sends fire up her spine feels… weird. She shouldn’t be here. This is all a level of strange, bizarro world nonsense that she’s not as equipped for as she thought.

But she’s not about to back out just because of that. Rachel has only been in her life for a year – and _barely_ a year, at that – she doesn’t get to claim ownership over this part of Chloe’s life just because of one fight.

Maybe she’ll find someone she knows in the basement.

~*~

She doesn’t.

At least, not at first. There are a few people scattered throughout the hallway, having conversations and not quite having conversations, and most of the doors are probably locked.

But there’s one still open at the very end.

So Chloe carves herself a path through the hall and steps inside. And between the wall to ceiling TV and the ridiculous L-shaped couch sitting about halfway inside – it’s one of those overpriced, too-deep couches with no support underneath the cushions, so you just sort of listlessly sink inside the longer you’re on it – she almost misses that she isn’t alone.

The room _seems_ empty.

But a puff of smoke rises up from the far corner of the couch almost as soon as she makes that observation. So, Chloe pauses for a second or two, unsure whether she wants to risk dealing with whatever this is about. It could be a pain.

Then again… _smoke_.

Fuck it.

She takes a deep breath, straightens out her jacket in some vague attempt to look at least _slightly_ presentable – and it _is_ hers, Rachel’s money might’ve bought it, but she’ll go down swinging before she gives it up – and steps closer.

“Uh,” Chloe starts. More smoke. Mission accomplished? “Hello?”

Just about the last thing she expects to see is the thing that happens. Dana something – Dana Ward, she thinks is her name. She’s pretty sure it’s her name, anyway. The cheerleader. One of Kate’s friends. One of Rachel’s friends. One of Trevor and Justin’s friends. One of those friend of a friend situations where they see each other around often enough at school, and at the skate park, and, hell, at parties like this, for a vague sense of recognition, but not enough for anything more than that. She’s about as tall as Chloe, and she’s kind of cute in that, you know, _way_ that popular girls like her tend to have. It’s pretty much the only reason Chloe has had her name _almost_ committed to memory, and her face _definitely_ committed to memory for the last year. That and the way she always seems to be smiling at Chloe. They’re _very_ nice smiles. But, her head pops up from behind the couch, long brown hair tied up in one of those perfect cheerleader ponytails that have never really done much for Chloe.

This one, though. This one, on this girl, always seems to work.

Which is a weird thought to be having, but, well, it’s probably nothing.

Her usual makeup and her usual earrings – those big dangly _I don’t give shit what you think_ things Chloe is pretty sure she normally wears – are nowhere in sight. She would ask, but she barely knows her. And given what she _does_ know, it’s weird enough to see her here alone at all. So, she doesn’t.

Recognition flashes in the mystery girl’s eyes, then. She seems to put together something about Chloe like she was stuck in a nearly identical line of thought, lighting up like a Christmas tree with her realization; so intensely bright that Chloe feels her sense of balance flip on its head for the fastest of seconds. Though, it could have been the beer.

Probably the beer.

She still hasn’t eaten anything. It would make sense for it to be the beer.

Either way, she’s already forgotten what it was she wanted to ask. Probably nothing to worry about.

Sitting and smoking – and hopefully not talking – is probably a good idea right now.

So Chloe lets herself follow along to her new friend’s _very_ bubbly invitation to shut the door and join her. And she makes sure to thank whatever part of the universe still cares when the very deliberate delay in conversation washes over them and doesn’t pick back up until Chloe is sinking into a corner of the couch, eyes closed and a stupid, happy grin on her face as she blows a massive stream of smoke out of her nose.

What she doesn’t do then, when her eyes drift open, is pay any mind to Probably-Dana’s outfit – a ridiculously low-cut top and jeans torn to shreds. The sort of high-effort-low-effort outfit Chloe wears all the time. It’s just, Chloe doesn’t exactly have the chest or the hips to fill it out like it’s being filled out right now. Chloe doesn’t usually have, like, half of her bra on display. She’s kind of not capable.

So, you know, she doesn’t. Do that. She doesn’t pay attention to that.

“The famous Chloe Price,” Her company says, voice sitting so firmly between silky smooth and nervous as all hell that it sort of feels like she lives there, in the space between the two.

Chloe pauses for a beat. “…Famous?”

The girl swings her legs over to the side and scoots herself closer, so Chloe follows suit; she draws her knees in toward her chest to give up some room without really thinking much of it. It’s smarter to talk when you’re closer together than it is when you’re on opposite corners of a weird expensive couch.

“Katie talks about you all the time. You’re like her own personal guardian angel with how often you’re there for her charity stuff.” Dana starts spilling like she’s been _waiting_ to get this chance, giggling the entire time. “I didn’t really expect to see you here tonight, I heard about the whole… Rachel thing.”

Chloe snorts bitterly. She makes sure to hide the strange mixture of pride and frustration that hits her at having someone define her in some way other than _Rachel’s friend._ It’s all anyone sees her as, lately.

“No offense, but I’m pretty sure you’d have a harder time finding someone around here who _hasn’t_ heard by now. Should’ve seen the stares I got earlier,” she says, passing back the pipe.

Dana turns her down and smiles. She laughs a little. The smallest intake of breath. “And here I was trying to be tactful! I’m glad you’re here is all, I might’ve been hoping to meet you for a while now.”

Chloe raises a brow and takes another, much slower drag. Making sure to keep eye contact as she does in some wordless move to get Cheerleader Ponytail to keep talking.

“Just a teensy bit.” She smiles, holding her pointer finger and thumb together for that extra bit of emphasis. “I’m Dana, by the way.”

Dana it is.

Score one for Chloe.

“Dana,” Chloe exhales with the smoke, trying the name out. Seeing how it fits. _Dana._ “What’s got you down here all alone?” she goes on, leaning over to place the pipe on the coffee table just to their side. It feels weird smoking alone, now that she has a name for the face.

“Oh, it’s – it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. Not your problem,” Dana offers with another one of those smiles, probably thinking someone smart would accept that answer and move on.

But then, Chloe has never claimed to be smart enough to leave something like that alone.

“I mean, _my_ bullshit is all out in the open now. I think it’s only fair.” She replies, a teasing lilt to her voice as she leans forward just enough to add some weight to the joke. It gets Dana laughing a little bit like she knows she’s caught, and a little bit more like she hoped Chloe would catch her in the first place.

Which is maybe why, still giggling, Dana slides around until she’s facing Chloe directly, hands on her knees and, _oh_ , that sort of puts her tits on full display. “Mmh, I guess I’m just worried about Katie lately. Tonight was supposed to be my attempt at relaxing, but, well… At least I got Trevor’s pipe and some time alone out of it.”

Chloe nods a bit in response. She’s seen Kate smoking where she thinks no one goes, when she thinks no one else is looking. She’s smelled the alcohol on her breath.

She’s seen the signs, even if she hasn’t seen the reasons.

“Speaking of, that big teddy bear said he would be back in a few, but I haven’t seen him in a while now.” Dana adds.

Which, yeah, sure, that sounds about right. Chloe grins, tapping at Dana’s knee with one of her boots, hoping to coax out another one of those laughs. “He probably got lost. You know how it goes with him.”

And she does, it turns out. Dana laughs and, god, the sound of her voice; the way it rings through the room so quiet that it feels like no one else could possibly hear, and still so loud that it seems to fill up every inch of Chloe’s body, is way too much for her to handle right now. So, she fakes a cough and glances off toward some other corner, hoping it’ll hide whatever that wave of _feeling_ was about.

“…I might’ve had a _tiiiny_ little bit of a fight with Jules, too. As long as we’re throwing it all out there,” Dana mumbles, probably hoping Chloe won’t hear. Probably expecting Chloe doesn’t know who she’s talking about.

But, then, of course she hears it. Of course she knows.

“Oh? Gunnin’ for my thing, are you?” She jokes, effortlessly plucking away another one of those smiles. But she doesn’t say anything else. Because even just that particular curve of Dana’s lips is getting to be too much, and if this is how Dana is, Chloe isn’t sure she can manage coming out of this night in one piece.

Dana, oblivious to Chloe’s thoughts, keeps on smiling like nothing is wrong.

She hums and pats at one of Chloe’s knees, dragging her fingers deliberately up and down her thigh until she’s ready to take that hand back.

She doesn’t.

Take it back.

Not for about three breaths.

Chloe counts them just to be sure.

And Dana _glows_ when she finally pulls away. Not literally. Of course not literally. People don’t _glow_. But Dana is smiling and swaying and melting into the entire situation like she has never once, in her life, been more in her element than now. Like there’s nowhere else she would rather be. Her every move seems to light up the air itself with a steady pulse of electricity.

“Just a bit,” Dana replies with an effortless shrug and a wink. “But that’s – it’s not a big deal. Finally getting the chance to meet _you_ is balancing everything out pretty well, so far.”

“Everything you ever dreamed, am I?”

“That and more _,_ ” Dana replies with a smile. Her fingers brush Chloe’s thigh again.

“Well, what it’s worth? If you just so happened to be lying, and that _was_ a big deal, I’m definitely feelin’ like an expert on that subject, lately.” Chloe adds, her words running away before she gets a chance to check them on their way out. “The only person in the world that knew me decided I wasn’t worth the effort. So, I’m a walking advice machine at this point.”

Something in the way Chloe smiles as she says it, in the way she snorts out a bitter sort of laugh, must be what Dana was looking for, because she leans closer. She rests her arms on Chloe’s knees and her head in her arms, and strokes her fingers through Chloe’s hair; just barely ghosting against the top of her ear, and Chloe’s heart maybe forgets how to beat when it happens because something about this particular combination of hunger, and beer, and weed has her feeling touch-starved enough that her lungs follow suit and almost forget how to breathe when she sees those big blue eyes staring up at her.

She should leave. Like, now.

But her eyes. _Oh_ , her eyes.

Chloe always did like the color blue.

“Poor baby,” Dana murmurs so quietly that Chloe almost misses it. “Love the hair by the way. Blonde looked good on you, but this…” She reaches over, slowly, letting each individual strand of Chloe’s hair spill through her fingers and smiling lazy and content all the while. She reaches for more to tuck behind Chloe’s ear when she’s finished, scratching lightly at the spot and pulling back with an unsteady sigh and a _much_ steadier flourish.

Her touch feels like lightning.

There is, Chloe thinks, probably a good reason for her to be doing this. So, she forces out a chuckle, asking, “Dude, how much did you smoke before I got here?” as she spreads her legs and lets Dana sprawl out on top of her.

Because that’s obviously it.

She’s high and cuddly. Right.

…Right?

“Just enough,” Dana whispers. Pointedly. Like she has another reason after all.

But it couldn’t be another reason.

Chloe can _imagine_ another reason, it’s just that it _can’t_ be that.

When Dana settles in and gets her chest pressed very deliberately against Chloe’s ribs, she gasps. She feels her heart rev into overdrive like Dana reached straight inside and squeezed. And, with how they’re laying together right now, Chloe knows Dana can probably feel it as clear as day.

She doesn’t comment on it.

Instead, Dana presses two fingers to Chloe’s elbow – the one she just finished getting inked the other week. The one sitting awkwardly to the side, half dangling off the couch – and an entire fucking jolt of electricity shoots through Chloe’s body, burning the air in her lungs to nothing with its arrival.

“Loving this, too,” Dana coos, awestruck and dragging the pads of her fingers over every detail of the tattoo that peeks out from where her sleeve rolls up. Creating so many trails of so many sparks with her touch. Chloe hates herself for not having another word to describe it.

But Dana’s entire presence feels electric.

And it – that sensation – is nice, actually. Nice in ways Chloe doesn’t quite know how to describe. Dana’s touch is a jolt. Dana’s touch jolts every nerve ending in her body to life; sets every corner of every part of her body on high alert.

And Dana’s touch still jolts her so badly that she twitches just barely backwards. Like her body is reflexively trying to escape even though the voice in her head is whispering that it’s _okay_ if she didn’t realize her other hand is already rubbing circles into the small of Dana’s back. That it’s okay if that hand tries something like sliding up and along every line of soft skin and toned muscle within reach; if it moves up to her shoulders and the nape of her neck, and undoes that ponytail to see what she looks like without it.

If she leans closer.

If she learns to be okay with the touch.

“Thank you,” Dana says, still holding Chloe’s gaze. A few seconds pass before she adds anything else, and Chloe thinks for every part of that silence that she might have found a way to read her thoughts. “You’re always so nice to Katie, and… and you don’t need to be.”

An emotion flashes in Dana’s eyes as she gives her thanks. One that Chloe knows she’s seen countless times before. Almost every other time she’s taken notice of Dana. One she’s never been able to place. One she’s never been able to name. Something deep, and heavy, and completely and utterly overwhelming.

“It means a lot to me,”

She’s a little scared of it, honestly.

“that you care about her.”

Of what it means.

“So, _thank you,_ ”

About her.

“ _really._ ”

About Dana.

Because Dana is, well, she’s not Rachel. But she’s cut from the very same cloth. She’s every bit as perfect in all of her countless, shamelessly flawed ways. And that’s more than a little frightening.

To know someone more perfect than you ever imagined possible.

To love that someone.

To be loved by that someone.

To have all of that someone’s love torn away so cleanly that it may as well have never been there at all. Just some trick of the mind, like the sunset glaring against the corner of your windowsill. To meet someone else who, same as before, like it comes to them as easily as breathing, knows how to make you feel _exactly_ , down to the letter, the same way. In the same amount of time. With the same amount of words. And the same amount of touch.

To have that someone else want to know you just as badly as you want to know them.

She’s not sure if she’s ready to deal with what that means for her to have missed it until tonight. To have missed that feeling in all of their countless half meetings and off-hand hellos. To only have words for that feeling now, _right_ now, in this moment where Dana accidentally cranked the charm all the way up to eleven.

But before she gets so much as one chance to think on it further – on even one miniscule, barely-there second – Dana places a hand to the exact center of Chloe’s chest. She uses it for balance as she eases herself closer and closer and closer, and she’s got her bottom lip caught gently between her teeth. Just enough to tease some color into view. Just enough to make sure she has Chloe’s attention. And Chloe’s heart feels like it’s doing backflips against the place that Dana is touching. Because that look – that fucking look – is holding every last corner of Chloe’s attention hostage. It’s holding her trapped in the bottomless blue of Dana’s eyes, so clearly satisfied with the way it has Chloe feeling and the ways that it has Chloe listening without even needing words.

And then Dana opens her mouth, and Chloe nearly misses it. Nearly lets herself switch over to autopilot out of some inexplicable need to shut Dana up before she gets a chance to say anything that might ruin this moment before it gets a chance to _become_ a moment. Because her lips are so close. Close enough that Chloe doesn’t need to guess to know where this is going.

Close enough that Chloe isn’t sure she has it in her to say no.

Or that she even wants to.

Because Dana is _so_ close.

“You know, I never really gave it much thought until recently,” Dana says, and that feeling is in her _voice_ now. “But, now that I’ve had some time, I can see the appeal. To, you know, girls.”

“Yeah?” Chloe asks with a confidence she doesn’t feel, because this is all too much. She has no control over this, and yeah, okay, she _wants_ it – god does she want it, and _god_ does it feel good to finally admit that – but maybe that’s not a good thing. Maybe she needs a second to just calm down and breathe. To let her brain catch up to any single part of what’s happened in the past few minutes. “Feel free to enlighten me.”

“Oh, it’s nothing _enlightening._ ” Dana smiles, her voice going somehow lower, and she leans even closer. “Just that, I’m pretty sure I know what I want in a girl, now.”

Chloe gives her a look that says _go on_ in place of trying to say the words out loud, and when Dana presses the tips of their noses together, the last bit of reason Chloe has been desperately clinging to goes fading into the distance like it was nothing more than some smoke still trapped in her lungs. Dana is so close.

She is _so_ close.

But then Dana smiles.

“ _My tongue_ ,” she says.

And the cheese in that line has Chloe snapping out of the moment, almost an instant away from laughing, but Dana is on her before she gets the chance. Her lips are soft, and she tastes a little like smoke, and smells a little like vanilla and orange blossoms and _warmth_ , and she feels a lot like that sort of undefinable _ache_ that Chloe is all too familiar with.

And then Dana’s tongue is swiping across her bottom lip, so she opens her mouth to let it inside – because fuck, who is Chloe to turn an offer like _that_ down? – and Dana’s teeth are nipping playfully at every unintentional groan, or sigh, or attempt to gasp for breath, and Dana’s _voice_ , oh, her voice. The way she moans into Chloe’s mouth and has her feeling like the only thing left to do is to swallow it down like a gift. To take it for herself and return the favor with a few shuddering, hitched sounds of gratitude.

Chloe holds onto her like she’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

Like she desperately needs to stay that way because the almost magnetic force of Dana’s lips and Dana’s body on hers feels like it might just send her floating away and into the clouds. Because the way Dana kisses her feels like it’s saying something heavy enough; something dripping with enough intent and hidden feelings that Chloe is scared to look closer and find out what. So, instead, she kisses Dana harder. She turns the moment into never-ending contact punctuated with countless small, shallow gasps for air, and gentle smiles, and short seconds spent staring into each other’s eyes, and hands cupping faces, and…

And then it’s over.

A little bit less than gently, and a whole lot less than gracefully, Dana finally wills herself to pull away for breath.

For more than just a quick, shaky inhale, this time.

Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are deep, and dark, and, whether that kiss lasted one second or a thousand, it feels to Chloe like it was over in an instant. It feels like Dana is pulling away as soon as she was there, leaving Chloe breathless and helpless to do anything other than moan out a hushed, “ _Woah._ ”

It earns her a shallow, happy puff of air. The sort of sound she always imagined a girl like Dana might make when she’s nervous and happy and relieved and too many feelings to name. The sort of whirlwind of emotions a girl like Dana might feel in a situation like this.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for such a long time.”

Chloe’s mouth dries out, hearing her say those words.

But not fast enough to stop her from saying something stupid.

The breathless sort of way that her response pushes past her teeth at least keep her from feeling _too_ bad about it. It sounds like she’s teasing. Like she’s flirting. Like she’s dancing along and caught in the flow of Dana’s rhythm. Not like she’s absolutely god damn clueless as to how this is happening, or… about _why_ it’s happening.

“You make it sound like you have a crush on me.”

Her voice sounds exactly like Dana’s laugh. Low and steady like she knows exactly what she wants to happen next, but still laced with that particular strand of hesitance. That particular strand of fear that says she’s too scared to take it for herself.

Because she is. Too scared.

“Little bit,” Dana whispers back. She smiles again, and it’s so bright and happy in the midst of this quiet back and forth that Chloe can’t quite help the way her breath catches in her throat seeing it so close to her own face that she could just tilt her head; just angle her chin the _smallest_ bit further, the _smallest_ bit forward, and replace it with something else entirely.

Dana smiles even wider, leaning forward like she was thinking the very same thing. She presses their foreheads together like she’s daring Chloe to take the next move for herself.

 _Come on,_ that sparkle in her eyes is saying.

“Lotta bit.”

_I trust you._

Chloe can feel every single letter of every single syllable ghosting across her lips.

“A very big one, actually. For a long time, now,” Dana murmurs, so quiet and so low that Chloe leans up without thinking – to hear just a bit better – only to find that all she’s doing is pulling Dana into her all over again.

And when she feels two sets of perfectly painted fingernails gliding up the side of her neck and brushing her beanie all the way off her head to give Dana better access to the places she wants to touch, Chloe melts into it completely.

 _I trust you, too_ , she thinks.

When Dana smiles into the kiss, climbing higher up Chloe’s body until she’s straddling her waist – without breaking the kiss for even an instant – Chloe knows she’s too far gone to stop. She reaches up to finally follow through on that thought of hers from before. To get Dana’s hair down and cascading around them like a veil. To keep this moment for themselves. Off limits to even their thoughts. Off limits to even the dark.

For a second – for the fastest of seconds, Dana pulls away, and her hair is spilling down and around them both, framing her face and blocking out the rest of the world. And, if Chloe was even capable of complex thought anymore, she might have something to think other than that Dana is absolutely god damn _beautiful_.

But she isn’t.

So, she doesn’t.

And _that_ is the thought that she gets as Dana searches her eyes – like she has at every turn up until now – for permission to go further. Asking whether even this much is okay.

But Chloe seems to have developed a habit of responding in ways that Dana likes, because she grins again, wrapping her fingers slow and steady around one of Chloe’s wrists and guiding it up to her chest. Just over her heart.

Whatever bit of resistance might have somehow managed to survive past that last thing that wiped it out; whatever part survived long enough to have any opinion worth voicing, it’s gone after that. It’s keeling over, and crumpling onto the floor, and letting Dana through. Her heart is beating just as fast as Chloe’s. She can feel the steady thrum of it through Dana’s shirt, and through her bra, and through the warmth of her skin, and then Dana squeezes gently at her wrist. A silent request for her to keep that hand where it is.

“You’re so good, Chlo,” Dana sighs into her mouth, and god if that feeling Chloe still isn’t sure how to name doesn’t flare back up until it sparks across the short distance still left between them. Until the air itself is charged with it. Until Dana’s skin feels like lightning, and Dana’s words like thunder. Until it feels like the faintest breath might disturb it all and send them crashing back together like they were never apart at all. “I’ve been watching you for such a long time. I always knew. Even when no one else believed it.”

It might be a line.

It’s probably a line.

Chloe wants to push. She wants to ask what that’s about, why someone like Dana would _lie_ about something like that. For someone like her. When she’s already got Chloe like this.

But instead, she focuses in on Dana’s lips. She focuses in on how her lipstick – and, she really thought Dana wasn’t wearing any – is just slightly smudged, and how she’s drunk, and they’re high, and even though it probably was a line, this is how people are supposed to act when they’re one or two or both of those things together.

So, you know, to hell with worrying about it.

It’s probably a line, but that doesn’t mean it’s a crime if Chloe lets herself believe.

Right now, she would believe anything passing through those lips. So, she believes. And something in Dana’s voice tells her that she’s right to believe.

But she also knows that she doesn’t have anything to add that wouldn’t ruin whatever Dana is taking such incredible care to bring to life, so Chloe pushes herself up and kisses her, groaning in relief when Dana takes her by the wrist again; when she takes the hand still feeling the relentless pound of her heart and slides it lower. Slides it further, until Chloe is cupping one of her breasts.

And she can’t help it, then.

Dana is so fucking _soft_.

She lets her palm press forward, lets her fingers dig gently, experimentally into Dana’s skin until she’s moaning happy and smiling wide at every movement that Chloe makes. Until Chloe does the same. Until Chloe is losing herself so completely that the next thing she realizes, Dana is nipping and mouthing and sucking at her neck. Just under her ear. And that Dana’s hands are at her waist, her fingers dancing under the hem of her shirt and slowly sliding higher and higher and _higher_ , and all Chloe can think anymore is that this is all so, so easy.

It hits her like a bucket of ice.

_This is too easy._

She startles back and away, shoving herself up the arm of the couch with enough force for Dana to understand something is wrong. Like the changes that come with it – the shallow unsteady breathing and the unfocused eyes – weren’t already enough. She reaches up, touches two fingers the fresh bruise on her neck, and she knows, immediately, that she needs to stop. Because if she doesn’t, this is going to end with the two of them waking up completely naked on someone else’s couch, in someone else’s home, in someone else’s neighborhood.

That’s someone else’s life. That isn’t Chloe.

And it isn’t that she’s worried about betraying Rachel; she doesn’t care about that right now. Rachel is the one who told her to leave. The one who told her that it would be better for them both – _safer_ for them both – if they stopped trying to pretend that getting away from Frank was possible.

But.

She’s worried about what this says about herself. That she’s so willing to just… try again. Not even one weekend later. With someone else. And, all fairness to Dana, she’s not _just_ someone else, she’s… Chloe shouldn’t know as much about her as she does. But she does. She does know those things. And she can see herself building something meaningful and real with Dana because of it.

Because of what Dana knows about her. Because of how Dana _looks_ at her and _talks_ to her and… And how Dana kisses her and touches her, and...

And.

Fuck.

She can see it as clearly as if she was living that life right now. Spending days at Dana’s place, with Dana’s friends, and Dana’s family. Spending nights with Dana. Going to fucking _football games_ to watch her cheer and to show off, and bringing her along to the skate park to show off in the exact same ways. Going to parties, and dancing together, and flirting together, and finding quiet rooms like the one they’re in right now to lock themselves inside, and, she needs to _leave_.

Right now.

Because the way that those things feel so _easy_ ; the way that they feel like something she wants and that she would be willing to put in the effort to have, is all too much.

It means her feelings for Max weren’t just a fluke. That they weren’t just the incoherent emotions of some child who cared more about her best friend than her best friend ever did about her. Someone sad and lonely, desperately grasping onto every bit of attention she got from the one kid who ever bothered giving her the time of day.

It means her feelings for Rachel are evidence of a pattern. It means falling in love with Rachel wasn’t just a one-time thing; wasn’t just because Rachel is so incredible that she could talk her way into _anyone’s_ heart. Wasn’t just because… God, Chloe might have really been willing to put up with that feeling of being used just to get the chance at one more day in the warmth of her presence. If she hadn’t already ruined everything beyond repair.

She didn’t feel that way just because Rachel is that sort of person.

Or because Rachel makes everyone feel that way.

It means…

It means everyone is _right_ to call her a pathetic, filthy dyke who follows Rachel around like a lost kitten just because she was nice to her once.

It means that this is what she is, and she doesn’t have either of them – not Max, and not Rachel – here with her to convince her that it’s okay. That she’s okay. That she’s allowed to _be_ like this. And she can’t just stay here with Dana and pretend like this is a normal thing, or that breaking down like this is just something Dana would be willing to help her with. That Dana would _ever_ care about Chloe in the ways that she needs to keep this sort of bullshit buried down where it’ll never fucking resurface when _this_ is how their first actual night together is going.

Chloe scrambles to her feet, still rubbing at the spot under her ear. If she pushes down with enough force, it hurts. So, she focuses on that. She uses that as her only remaining link to reality while she spirals too fast to follow, and she leaves. She dimly recognizes herself mumbling some kind of excuse, and bowling over someone that looks an awful lot like Trevor. It was probably Trevor. Dana said something about Trevor. And she’s upstairs again in the blink of an eye.

She’s outside in another.

And then she’s down the street, and in her truck, and the key is in the ignition, and she’s gripping at the steering wheel so hard she feels like the skin on her knuckles might honestly break from the strain.

So, she lets go.

And she slams a fist onto the horn.

“Fuck!”

Again.

“ _Fuck!_ ”

And again.

And again, and again, and again, until she’s sobbing and shouting her throat raw and the couple of Blackwell idiots walking by are staring at her like she’s crazy.

She can’t do this here.

She has to go.

She peels out of her parking spot fast enough to get the attention of those two one last time before she disappears down the street.

~*~

Further down the hill, Kate hears a truck sputter and stagger to a stop.

A door slams shut, and someone yells at the top of their lungs.

In another situation, Kate might have something to say about their voice making it up the hill even more clearly than the sound of the engine. But this isn’t one of those situations, so all she feels is a sudden rush of fear over what comes next. She freezes in place.

The new visitor stomps their way up the hill, grumbling to themselves louder and louder on their trip to the top until they drop down onto the bench at Kate’s back with a groan she might charitably describe as exhausted.

Kate thinks she can probably guess who this someone is. Which is a bit of a relief, but it raises that very same problem all over again.

She still doesn’t know what the right move is.

So, at a loss, she continues standing at the edge of the cliff.

If this is a sign from God, it’s certainly a strange one.

“Hey Kate?” The someone calls. And Kate knows now, without a doubt, that the someone is Chloe. She’s talking around something in her mouth – probably a cigarette – and rifling around – probably in Kate’s bag – for something else. Which, again, is a strange combination of both soothing and worrying. And, on top of that, Chloe sounds nearly as nervous and on edge as Kate feels herself. “Kate, I’m gonna borrow your lighter.”

It’s very much not the sort of comment Kate would have expected out of a sign from God. Not that she’s one to question the validity of moments like these. And anyway, Chloe rarely acts in ways she expects in _normal_ situations.

But still. She stays there, frozen in her confusion.

“Oh. Right. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about it,” Chloe goes on, still completely unaffected by what she walked into, her voice measured and accompanied by sound of the metal and the spark of the flame.

A short moment passes, and then Kate hears Chloe sigh in relief, mumbling something about _shit, I hope she has my hat_. Kate even hears her sliding slightly down the bench.

And, this is still weird. And Kate still doesn’t know what to do. But she turns. She doesn’t step away from the cliff, but she does still turn to look.

“So,” Chloe starts again, her head completely dangling off the back of the bench and her arms draped from end to end. She pauses to tap away some ash from her cigarette, and, she’s trying to cover it up – only mostly succeeding – but she still sounds so _sad_. So tense, and scared, and… What happened to her? “I know this might be hard to believe, seeing as I am the absolute perfect specimen of a woman,” Chloe angles her wrists up like it’s meant to be her attempt at gesturing to herself with the smallest possible amount of movement. Like she isn’t a huge ball of tension trying and straining and failing to come uncoiled right in front of Kate’s eyes.

And Kate giggles.

Because she can’t help it anymore. This entire situation is too many kinds of ridiculous getting stacked on top of each other. It’s too many for Kate to handle.

So, maybe this _is_ the right move. Maybe this _is_ some kind of sign. Chloe has always been nice to her. She’s always felt to Kate like the closest thing there might be to a real-life angel. The sort of person that casually, effortlessly drops in and drops out of your life unannounced on their latest whim, and always treats you like you’re the most important thing she’s got going on that day. The sort of person that you can tell makes it their mission to care.

Even if Chloe herself would never admit to that.

“There she is,” Chloe says when she hears the laugh, leaning up and showing off to Kate with her own self-satisfied smirk. Looking her up and down with one of those long, meaningful looks of hers. “Anyway, the thing I was saying – I’ve been where you are before. Not, like, literally _there_. My first choice is usually uh… you know what, never mind. If – if you want to talk, I’m not going anywhere. Probably should’ve opened with that.”

Kate decides then and there that Chloe _is_ with her for a reason. So, she takes a deep breath, trying to steady her unsteady nerves, and finally pulls herself away from the ledge. Finally makes her way over to the bench, taking a seat at Chloe’s side. Nervously at first, but then one of Chloe’s arms drapes around her shoulder, and yanks her closer, and Kate lets herself take another breath. She lets herself calm down.

Just a little.

And she isn’t exactly sure where to start, but she’ll figure that out eventually. In the meantime, she takes Chloe’s advice to heart, and just… talks.

About her classes.

And where her head has been at.

About recent events.

About her family.

And, _oh._ It hits her then. Her family.

Like some sort of mental barrier crumbling to pieces, it all starts pouring out of her. Everything she’s been bottling up. About how her dad has been growing more and more distant due to his work, and how her mom has been demanding more and more, better and better results from her time at school, and how the pressure – the knowledge that no matter how hard she tries, she’ll never be enough for her because _art isn’t a real career_ – is what drove her to start drinking in the first place.

She even mentions that she hasn’t told anyone other than Dana.

Chloe nods, still regarding her quietly, and squeezes at her shoulder like she understands exactly how much that secret means.

Chloe even, when Kate has worked out everything else she hadn’t realized she wanted to say, helps ease some of her concerns. The worries over what might have caused her parents to start acting like they are, and what that might mean for her sisters, and for _her_ , and their futures, and so many things that Kate hasn’t been able to stop worrying about.

Which is how they end up on the subject of Dana.

Kate has been at a complete loss, trying to figure out why Victoria Chase, of all people, has been so laser focused on her since this all started. And more importantly, why that seems to have attracted the attention of Dana’s friend, Juliet. Because her involvement would be worrying enough on its on its own, given her role in the school paper and her near total lack of subtlety, but the sticking point for Kate; the thing that she absolutely hasn’t been able to let go, is that Juliet could only have learned was happening from Dana.

And that scares her.

Because Dana isn’t the kind of person to gossip like that, no matter how close those two are.

But that means she’s either being nosy because something about this has her convinced that she’ll find a story, or because Dana already gave her one, and Juliet thinks Victoria is the fastest way to the details.

“Don’t worry about the news bitch,” Chloe insists, her voice strangled by a strange burst of tension in her voice. She doesn’t make any attempt to explain herself, either. It’s a sudden enough change that Kate isn’t quite sure how to react. “You and Dana are basically sisters, yeah? She wouldn’t do that to you.”

Kate blinks.

She _wants_ to say something, because Chloe getting uncomfortable is a very unique sort of unexpected unlike any of her other unexpected reactions, and maybe she needs to apologize for pushing Chloe to her limit when she’s clearly dealing with her own problems right now.

But.

Something happens, Kate notices, after Chloe says those words. She goes a little stiff. Coils up her presence just a little bit more. And her answer – the defense of Dana she had ready to go like it’s been sitting on the edge of her tongue ever since they started talking – feels stilted, and awkward, and like she’s dancing around something very important.

Maybe it’s the reason she’s here tonight. The path she had to walk in order to find her way to Kate.

It’s in the way she cracks, barely seconds later, and explains that she ran into Dana without mentioning _where_. In the way she says that they _talked_ without mentioning anything other than that Dana was worried about Kate, and how this is _definitely_ a misunderstanding, and how she knows for sure, and she knew it even before tonight, that Dana _absolutely_ wouldn’t hurt Kate like that. The way she explains that Dana might have mentioned having a falling out with her friend recently, and the way she skims over nearly every other detail that Kate tries to squeeze out of her.

Kate isn’t positive, because there’s _something_ being held back here, but it doesn’t stop her from hesitantly agreeing.

Because Chloe doesn’t lie. So, for her to be hiding something, it must be important.

Because she wants to believe Dana wouldn’t hurt her.

Because this suspicion might not be helping anything, right now, and because it doesn’t matter so much in the grand scheme of things, if Chloe wants to keep this secret. The help that she’s already given is more than Kate ever thought to hope for.

So, she agrees. She wants to go back to _before_ too bad to keep fighting it.

And after another short stretch of time, when the cold starts to get to her and she’s run out of anything else to bring up in an attempt to salvage this _thing_ they had going, Kate asks if Chloe might be willing to drive her back to Blackwell.

“I would walk,” she says, quietly hoping she’s not crossing some invisible line that will make Chloe upset with her. It’s just that she’s helped so much already, and she _always_ helps so much, and relying on her feels safe. “But it’s dark, and… I’m not sure I trust myself just yet.”

The smile Chloe hits her with, big and happy and so wide that her eyes scrunch closed like nothing could ever worry her, dispels all of her doubts in an instant.

“Yeah, no fuckin’ way am I leaving you alone, let’s go.”

Chloe somehow always finds a way to exceed her expectations.

And on their walk back down the hill, Kate steals a chance to pray quietly that Chloe’s life will turn around some day. If there’s anyone she knows that has more than earned a happily ever after in their life, it’s her.

Despite that thought, though, Chloe doesn’t seem to be in the mood for introspection. Not that she _ever_ seems to be in the mood, but still.

She’s acting exactly like she has been since she showed up: keeping Kate close, and trying to hide her own hurt, and filling the silence with any sort of noise that she can.

Whether it’s useful advice or otherwise.

“This shit,” She says suddenly, bumping softly against Kate’s shoulder. “All of it, it’ll find it’s place in your life eventually.”

Kate stares, confused at what that’s supposed to mean. It sounds like the sort of vague, meaningless advice you’d get from a grandparent over the holidays or a nervous youth pastor on their first day of work. Not from someone like Chloe. Not from someone who values being blunt and honest over everything else.

But Chloe is smiling when Kate finally catches her eye.

Maybe it means something special to her.

“My dad used to say that all the time,” She explains, and _ah_ , Kate realizes, _that’s it_. “It means, like, don’t run from your problems. Don’t _get over it_ or like, _try to move on_ , you know? Your problems are a part of you, and you won’t ever get stronger if you don’t learn from that hurt and let life give you a few scars for your trouble. Y’know?”

Surprisingly, “I think I do.”

“Talk to Dana.” Chloe nudges her again. “You two’ll figure this out.”

Kate smiles. “I believe you.”

“Damn right you do. Now, I can’t say I’m all that great at _following_ those words of wisdom, but it’s still good advice. Words to try your hardest to live by.” Chloe says, chuckling at herself like she’s made a particularly funny joke.

Kate isn’t sure she caught it, but she does appreciate the advice, so she nods, making absolutely sure Chloe sees before they each climb their way into her truck.

~*~

It’s not until they’re both settled in that Kate’s next question comes.

“Can you,” The question lodges itself in her throat, so she swallows and tries again. “Do you think I’ll be happier if I do? Try to follow that advice?”

She expects Chloe to tell her yes, or to lie or… to do anything other than bark out a laugh.

“Fuck dude, I don’t know! Absolutely fuckin’ not.” She explodes, almost cackling, and Kate wonders vaguely if this time she _really_ touched on something she shouldn’t have. This feels like before. But Chloe keeps going. “I’m sure not any happier! You want to know how little I know about anything? I realized I’m gay tonight. Like, just a bit earlier. _Tonight_ tonight. Because I’m pretty sure I had a full-blown fuckin’ panic attack after someone kissed me.”

Kate is positive she can feel her brain turning itself over inside her skull, trying to figure that one out. “But… Rachel?”

And then it hits her. She saw Dana. And Dana has that crush. And, oh.

_Oh._

Poor Dana.

Poor _Chloe._

She should talk to Dana… It sounds like they could both use the company, tonight.

“Yeah! Yeah!” Chloe shouts, almost hysterical at this point, and Kate thinks that maybe she did hit something vulnerable after all. She’s never seen Chloe like this. “You’d think I would’ve _maybe_ realized somewhere between that and the crush I had on my best friend in the whole damn world when I was a kid, but,” And here Chloe flails her hands off the steering wheel. Just for a second, and not long enough for them to go swerving in any direction. But still long enough to be concerning. Her laughter only barely starts dying down when she continues. “But, turns out, third fuck up’s the charm.”

A heavy beat of silence works its way through the cabin, then. Chloe tries to calm herself back down, and Kate isn’t really sure what to say to fix things. She wants to help, but she’s so used to _Chloe_ being the one in this position.

She’s so much more… worldly.

She always has answers. For everything.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Chloe shouts, slamming a fist down on the horn, and _this_ time she at least has the presence of mind to pull off to the side of the road, even if the truck comes to a stop with a dangerous lurch. She fumbles around for her cigarettes, lights up another, and works her way slowly through the entire thing, head resting on the steering wheel until there’s nothing left but a filter being crushed underneath her boot. And Kate waits.

It should scare her, seeing Chloe like this.

It doesn’t.

So, instead, she waits.

She waits, and she worries about how to help. Because, what does she have to offer? Chloe has never been _against_ Kate’s religion, exactly, but… quiet tolerance and open acceptance aren’t the same thing. What is she supposed to say here, _God still loves you?_ Kate is smart enough to know she’s naïve in a lot of ways, but even she understands how condescending that would sound to Chloe. In the middle of tonight.

In the middle of her entire life.

“Sorry. That – fuck, sorry. Was trying to keep that bottled up until we got you home. You didn’t need to see that… But, you know, life doesn’t give you simple answers to questions like that. Is, I guess my point.” Chloe finally says, quieter than before, her voice dripping with regret. “The best thing you can really do in times like these is to keep on living for the chance to tell the universe to go eat shit.”

And it’s not all the way there, but Kate still recognizes the Chloe she knows peeking back through.

_There she is._

“I’m a fuckin’ walking disaster, Kate. I – I know this isn’t the most religious thing of me to say, but no matter how bad the universe wants me gone, I’m still here.” Chloe pushes out unsteadily as she lights _another_ cigarette and starts the truck back up. “And you know what? So are you. So, I think I can say with some amount of confidence that you won’t be alone if you decide to stick around for a little bit longer. And that’s something. It’s not nothing anyway.”

A little half-smile pricks at the corners of Kate’s mouth, as she toys with her necklace.

That might actually be just about the _most_ Christian thing Chloe has ever said, but she can keep that little detail to herself.

~*~

“ _Kate!_ ” is the first thing Chloe hears after she finally gets Kate to her floor of the dorms.

Every bit of air being crushed from Kate’s lungs in a staggered, stifled laugh when Dana bursts through her door and hugs her as tight as she can? That comes next.

Chloe should probably be surprised to see Dana here, but then, given the night they’ve all evidently had, maybe not.

Probably not.

Her hair is still down though. Which is almost a surprise, until Chloe finally realizes she’s wearing Dana’s hair tie on her wrist, and… Right. The thing with Chloe’s hand on… right.

But.

More importantly, she didn’t exactly leave Dana at that party in the best of ways, and neither of them were there for good reasons to begin with. So, she’s definitely not back here for nothing.

“Are you okay?” Dana asks, looking intensely over every inch of Kate’s face like she wants to be absolutely sure she won’t miss a thing.

Kate nods.

And Dana sighs.

And finally notices Chloe, her eyes going wide and her body going absolutely still.

Kate notices Dana noticing Chloe.

“Um, Chloe – I, Kate, do you want to – ” Dana starts, and stops and starts again. But Kate interrupts with a smile in her voice and a knowing sparkle in her eyes, and for the first time that night, Chloe pieces together that this _thing_ with Dana might have honestly been a long time coming.

Even if it was doomed to fail from the word go.

“Sure. Take your time, I’ll be okay.” Kate says, already making her way into Dana’s room and closing the door behind her.

The silence that spreads through the hallway then is… awkward, to say the least.

Chloe isn’t really sure where to start.

Dana doesn’t seem any better off.

“Oh, I – here, you left this behind.” She offers, pulling Chloe’s beanie out of her back pocket.

Chloe accepts it with a strangled sort of almost-answer.

But their fingers brush together, and Dana’s eyes catch on Chloe’s wrist when she moves to put the hat back on.

And Dana sighs out a smile, happily whispering _you didn’t take it off,_ so Chloe doesn’t really have it in her to be upset when Dana pulls her into a hug. Not then, and not when Dana’s hands are threading into her hair, and sliding down her back, and settling at her waist. Because at this point, Chloe feels so raw and worn out that rolling with it just feels better. She lets herself give up. She lets herself give in. Nestles her head into the crook of Dana’s neck and returns the embrace with everything still left in her.

“Thank you,” Dana murmurs, chewing at her bottom lip. She sounds more than a little unsure about where things stand. Things blew up pretty quickly. That tends to be how things blow up. “ _Thank you._ ”

Chloe just barely pulls away. Only enough to look Dana in the eyes.

“For finding Kate. You don’t need to explain anything about… anything, just – thank you. And… I’m – I’m sorry for what I did, earlier,” Dana explains, and something about seeing her fall into unsteady rambling has Chloe smiling like she hasn’t in years. She hasn’t been on the other side of nerves like these since she was a kid, but… Maybe she can understand this pull Dana has over her, after all. She can certainly breathe a little easier, seeing her like this. “I should’ve – well, I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that.”

Chloe chuckles softly. “You didn’t, I promise.”

“I _did._ You just broke up with Rachel, and – ”

“Dana. Really. I didn’t, uh,” Chloe half sighs, half laughs as Dana pulls away, sliding her palms up Chloe’s arms until they’re settled at her shoulders. “It was nice. I liked it. A lot, actually,” she bobs her head, glancing off to the side entirely aware that the move does nothing to hide her smirk, and going through with it anyway. Because Dana smiles too. “It’s just… I think that meltdown was a long time coming. And you happened to be there for it.”

Something next to pity washes over Dana’s face, then. She reaches up to brush Chloe’s bangs away. To cup her cheek for the barest of moments. “…I really am sorry though.” She insists, her hands already back to rubbing apologetic little circles into Chloe’s shoulders.

And Chloe lets her have that. She nods slow and sucks in a slower breath. She’s not about to claim Dana _isn’t_ sorry.

Just that… she shouldn’t be.

“So,” Chloe tries, a thought of a different sort pricking at the front of her mind. “So, you’ve been watching me, huh?”

Dana opens her mouth like she means to reply. But it snaps closed nearly as soon as she does, a blush spreading across her cheeks as she turns away in embarrassment.

 _Oh_ , the look says, _you remember that, huh?_

But the smile she wears when she finally meets Chloe’s eyes says something altogether different. “Chlo, I’ve… Jesus,” Dana sighs, breaking into light laughter before she can finish. “I’ve had a crush on you since the very first day I moved here.”

The upper hand slips away from Chloe pretty immediately after that.

“…Wait what, wh – ”

Dana laughs again, satisfied like she knew exactly how Chloe was going to react, but wanted to see it happen anyway. “Why didn’t I say anything? Would you have, in my position? New girl in a new town, going to a new school and getting a crush on one of the two most intimidating girls around?”

“ _Intimidating,_ ” Chloe chuckles. She maybe blushes, too. Maybe. It’s just about the only response she can manage.

And Dana just keeps on laughing, brushing up and down Chloe’s shoulders, and giving a comforting squeeze as she finishes.

“You and Rach had a reputation for being untouchable even before you got together.” Dana admits. “And then you started dating, and you both got _freaky_ good at keeping people away.”

“Well shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Chloe laughs, stepping just a little bit closer. Her smile isn’t going anywhere at this point.

And from the looks of it, Dana isn’t going anywhere either.

“Don’t worry about it. I faced my fears eventually… Besides, we were in different circles. I had no way of knowing you liked girls back then, I never stood a chance.” Dana says, her smile shrinking just a bit smaller. Chloe feels hers nearly disappear completely in the whirlwind of sympathy and pity and the faint echo of thoughts that sound like promises of _You stood a chance. You did._ “But I know when it’s time to step aside.” Dana’s palms glide slowly down Chloe’s arms until they finally settle at her wrists. “And, you know, tonight was still…”

“Some PG-13 groping is what it was.” Chloe jokes.

Dana’s smile finds the strength to flicker back to life when the words register, and she’s blushing and looking away all over again.

“But, yeah.” Chloe goes on, taking one more step forward. “It was.”

And when she leans forward to erase whatever distance was left to erase, Dana looks up with the faintest of gasps.

She stares, unsteady, into Chloe’s eyes.

And Chloe lets her.

Because if she’s being honest with herself, whatever this is? It isn’t nothing. It feels like Dana is seeing through her now, and it felt like she saw through her earlier. With the same amount of ease as everyone else who Chloe has ever cared about. It’s a welcome, familiar sort of vulnerability, that feeling.

It’s a little bit like coming home.

And, letting that feeling surround her as they stand together, almost holding each other and not quite holding each other; circling around the edges of something so clearly out of reach, it feels a little bit more like time has slowed to a halt.

So, when Dana’s eyes flicker toward her lips, Chloe thinks _fuck it, who cares,_ and leans in closer. And suddenly their lips are reconnecting in something altogether happy and soft and too sad to name. Dana’s hands are easing their grip on Chloe’s wrists, and her arms are reaching up and wrapping tight around Chloe’s neck, and Chloe’s nails are digging hard into Dana’s waist.

Leaving evidence that no one will know is there but them.

And just like before, almost as soon as it starts, Dana pulls away. This time with the hint of something heavy turning up the corners of her mouth.

Something that knows with every fiber of its existence that she still doesn’t stand a chance.

“So… Does – are we okay?” Dana asks, small and scared. Hiding her real question underneath the thinnest sheet of double meaning possible.

_Maybe someday?_

They both know the answer is no. Chloe isn’t strong enough to stop loving Rachel. She isn’t strong enough to leave Rachel, never mind _wanting_ to in the first place. And Dana isn’t strong enough to ask that of her. Maybe in another time. Maybe in another place.

Maybe someday, sure.

Just not someday soon.

But there’s no reason to say so when they both already know the truth.

So, Chloe smiles, and she answers, “For sure,” content in the knowledge that she’s not the only one swimming through a sea and a half of hurt. That she didn’t imagine any of it. Not one part.

Her fingers brush along the line of Dana’s jaw. Leaving an answer behind for no one but her. And then, she’s gone.

 _Maybe,_ the touch lingers. Full of regret even in its unspoken silence for the past, present, and future it represents; the choices they could have made. The life they’ll never live.

_Maybe someday._

~*~

Max, of course, will never know the details of the story no matter how many times Dana offers to tell and no matter how many times she tries to ask. All she has are the broad strokes.

All she has is what she’s been given.

The rest will remain a tightly kept secret. An invisible strand of thread linking Dana and Chloe’s lives together until they decide they’re strong enough to live without it.

So, Max will never know.

Chloe, on the other hand, lived all of it.

Which is why she should know better.

But rather than confront her issues, she’s spent the past week living out of her truck, avoiding everything except work. Hiding in plain sight. Running from her problems. Trying her hardest to push away the slightest possibility that she might need to explain herself to Max, because how is she supposed to begin working through even the tiniest, most miniscule fraction of what she went through in the five years Max was gone?

How is she supposed to tell Max that that night with Dana was when everything started falling apart?

How is she supposed to talk about any of it when the only reason it happened in the first place was because she was too much of a coward to confront how she felt about Max when she had the chance?

When the only reason it continued was because she was too much of a coward to confront how she felt about Rachel?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretend someone was in the background cheering "It's sad now!" whenever a phrase or a plot thread from a previous chapter popped up in this one, and that's basically what I looked like writing this thing.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Whatever it is? Whatever’s different now? You’re still you, Chloe,” Max says with such a gentle sincerity that Chloe feels like her heart might just burst through her chest. “And I missed the hell out of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to give these next few chapters a CW/TW for physical abuse, and the aftermath and discussion of said abuse. A whole lot of Chloe and Rachel digging into why their relationship is the way that it is, basically.
> 
> My hope is that none of it really comes as a surprise, but just in case: consider this The Big Warning.

“Chloe Price! You’re like a ghost around these parts, lately,” comes a shout from the far corner of the diner. They don’t even bother to wait for her to step fully out of the kitchen.

In return, Chloe doesn’t look.

She doesn’t have to.

She can practically hear that night at the beach dripping off her voice.

“The fuck are you still doing in town?” Chloe barks, folding her arms and leaning back against the doorway.

It doesn’t do much to make her look intimidating – even if it did, this girl has always been the particular sort of oblivious where it doesn’t matter _what_ you do, she’s not listening and she’s not watching – but it adds a few more inches of distance between them. It gets the entire bar of truckers wrapped up into it.

One after the other, they turn away from their meals, from their drinks, and their papers, and they look sternly at Chloe.

And then, still in moving in tandem, they turn again to look in the other direction.

It, thankfully, gets the girl to shrink down into her booth and stop that _talking_ thing that she’s always doing.

That doesn’t mean it’ll hold for long though. It never does with her. Because she’s the sort of rich where you can tell at a glance _rebellion_ is just a cute little phase. Slumming it with the poors, drinking their shitty beer, eating their shitty food, and going to their shitty parties is just part of the game for her. She’s too used to getting whatever she wants whenever she wants it for any of it to be real.

Just like she’s too used to getting whatever she wants to be deterred by something so small as a bit of attention.

At the time, it felt like a nice enough replacement for Rachel. For the real thing. The greatest hits, condensed, remixed, and covered until everything Chloe loved was distilled down into something shallow; something barely skin deep, and absolutely worthless for more than a night.

And then she came back.

And then, she interrupted Chloe’s first night together with Max. At Max’s first party ever – and Chloe isn’t about to kid herself, that _was_ Max’s first.

And, then, because even that wasn’t enough, she tried to claw her way under Chloe’s skin like it was something she _deserved_. She gathered up an audience without even trying and managed to turn _Chloe_ into the villain. She managed to get Rachel, and Dana, and the other one, and even Victoria god damn Chase involved and threatened with a broken nose just to _prove_ that Chloe had anger to vent. Like it wasn’t entirely her fault Chloe was angry in the first place.

“You good, Price?” One of the regulars asks, voice rumbling gruff and low with just the slightest hint of concern as he sips at his coffee.

Pushing herself onto her own balance, Chloe shakes her head, and she starts walking. “Yeah. Sorry. She’s a pain in my ass, but she’s harmless.” She pats comfortingly at his shoulder when she passes by. “Food’ll be out in a bit, I know you’re in a hurry.”

He grunts and takes another sip.

But Chloe’s attention is already elsewhere. Already across the diner and firmly on her unwelcome guest.

“One more time,” Chloe asks the when the distance is gone and their conversation is at least a bit more private. She could get angry about this, but after everything else lately, Chloe is _tired_. There’s no room for anything else. “Why the fuck you here?”

Her words don’t have the intended effect. The girl lights up like someone flicked a switch, smiling and happy and… God, Chloe really should have seen this coming. This was her whole deal. She thrives on Chloe’s mad moods.

“Just vacation!” She laughs, a soft flutter barely masking her real intentions. “I thought I’d try _one_ last time to see if you’re up for a little fun before I head out. My classes don’t start back up until _super_ late tomorrow.”

Chloe closes her eyes.

She pinches the bridge of her nose.

_Vacation._

No. She isn’t. There is not a single college around Arcadia where that’s true, and this girl is just _like this_ , and neither of those facts get her even one step closer to removing this hell spawn from the diner.

Deep breaths.

“Correct me if I’m wrong – ”

“Will do!” The girl butts in, still smiling that ridiculous smile of hers. It’s smug without even meaning to be. That specific sort of _off_ that only ever happens to rich kids that learned how to smile by watching their rich parents who don’t _know_ how to smile any more than they know the price of a carton of eggs.

Chloe pushes a harsh exhale through her nostrils.

“ – _Correct me if I’m wrong_ , but the way I see it, the answer I gave you during our little shouting match at the beach was about as final as answers get.”

That smile. That smirk, does not leave her face. “Mhm! It was. Fired off a big ol’ punch at small, blonde, and scary when she tried to stop it, too.”

Chloe breathes in.

And out.

“So then, _why_ ,” Chloe asks through grit teeth. “Would you expect my answer to be any different this time?”

She hates this.

Chloe hates this with every fiber of her being. She hates how clingy this girl is. She hates how she shows up like she’s owed a talk, talks like she’s owed a fuck, and fucks like she’s owed an orgasm. This is exactly why Chloe never let it slip where she lives, or where she works, or anything beyond her name and that she was free that night.

And yet, here they are.

At the Two Whales.

In the middle of the afternoon.

The girl shrugs. Like she thinks nothing is wrong here, and that this is all perfectly normal.

“No,” Chloe hisses.

“Aww, but – ”

“ _No,_ ” she repeats. “We are not doing this. Ever again. Now, if you’re not here for food, get out before I shove my god damn boot up your ass.”

That, at least, gets a reaction other than a smile. Chloe takes a mental snapshot, filing it away to pull some satisfaction out of somewhere down the line. Right now, she’s not budging on the exhaustion.

The girl tries for an answer, but all she manages is a quick burst of sputtering and stammering as she tries to find a series of words that might make a sentence, and a short, simple, “Uh…”

“Last chance. What’ll you have?”

“A, Jesus, ah – a burger. Drink. Whatever.”

“Coming right up.”

“No!” The girl whispers, so loud it barely even qualifies as a whisper. “No, no, hold on! Let me at least apologize for some of this! You’re so bitchy today!”

Chloe grunts. She doesn’t move.

“So like, is this because of that girl you were with? The new one? Is she what’s got you all…?” The girl raises her index finger, spinning it around as it points vaguely in Chloe’s direction.

The glare doesn’t leave Chloe’s face.

“Wait. Wait, wait, _wait._ Don’t tell me. Don’t fucking tell me,” the girl sneers, inches away from laughing. Absolutely _giddy_ with her new realization. “Is Chloe Price trying to pretend she’s a relationship kind of girl? I mean, like, I know you’re all on-again-off-again with that friend of yours – and, who isn’t these days, you know? But… a _real_ relationship? Really? _Really?_ ”

Chloe shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

“Oh my god you are!” she crows, her voice nearly breaking as she loses her struggle to hold back the laughter.

Chloe could punch her. She could just punch her. Right in the face. No one would care.

“Okay,” grunts Chloe, pushing that thought away. Self-control. Drifting back to the version of herself that slept with someone like this in the first place won’t solve anything. “I’m leaving. Your food will be out when it’s out.”

But the girl doesn’t listen. She keeps right on laughing. “That poor girl! You _have_ to know you’re just gonna hurt her!”

Chloe’s back is turned when the last part of the mystery clicks itself into place. A lightbulb flashes to life. She’s here for Chloe. This isn’t a coincidence; this is a game of _Come Here And Fuck the Smirk Off My Face._

And, Chloe is _great_ at this game, but now is not the fucking time for this game.

“I mean it!” the girl goes on, as willfully oblivious as ever. “People like us? We’re fun for like… a weekend. _Maybe._ But we are _terrible_ for anything permanent.”

Chloe could ask why, then, she’s so set on ignoring her own advice.

But she forces herself to stay still. This girl would take any of her preferred reactions here as a victory, and this is a win that Chloe does not want to hand over under any circumstances. So, she waits. And the girl keeps that smile going, her eyes raking over Chloe’s body like she can already taste it.

“C’mon, Chlo, you don’t _really_ think you’re better than that, do you? People don’t change. Especially not people like us.” She reaches out, palm upturned, for Chloe’s hand.

It isn’t an ideal opening, but it works.

Because they aren’t the same.

Chloe leans down; leans close, hands gripping either side of the table as she growls, “ _You don’t get to call me that._ ”

The girl smiles even wider. “What, _Chlo?_ It’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Do. Not.” Chloe lets her voice drop lower, and colder, and this time it even manages to wipe away that disgusting grin completely. “There are two people in this world that I have _ever_ let call me Chlo, and you’re not them. So, if you want to leave here with food in your stomach and a nose that isn’t busted to fuck and back, cut the shit.”

The sense of victory Chloe earns for herself is incredibly short lived.

Because she likes that. She likes being scared.

Chloe forgot.

Again.

And her reward is that god damn smile slipping back onto the girl’s face through a nervous giggle as she throws her arms up in surrender. As she lets her voice drop somewhere between seductive and condescending, like this entire situation is nothing short of hilarious. “Alriiight,” she says. “ _Chlo-e._ ”

Chloe doesn’t move. Doesn’t stop hovering over the table. Doesn’t stop glaring or staring or waiting. Doesn’t pull away. Not one inch.

And this time, the message seems to get through.

“Fuck, fine, you’re in a _mood_ ,” The girl complains, collapsing back into the bench. “I’ll be around town for, oh… a few more hours. Look me up if you feel like directing some of that rage somewhere more productive, alright?”

Chloe shoves herself off the table without answering. She turns on her heel.

She doesn’t look back.

~*~

Chloe’s shift doesn’t end until hours later. Not until the sun has already begun its slow fall down into the night.

The second it does, Chloe heads out back, pulls out some smokes, and slides unsteadily down the wall until she’s sitting collapsed in silence with her head in her knees. Nothing but her, the breeze, and the slowly dying light.

It isn’t until that cigarette has nearly burned to nothing that she finally wills herself to lean back. To pull it from her mouth and hold her hand up to the sky, studying every detail she can.

Chloe drops her head back against the wall.

She is _tired._

Of today, obviously. But it’s more than just that. It’s everything.

She turns her hand around; lets her eyes fall just a little bit lower until she’s staring at her wrist, the sun and the steady stream of smoke just out of sight. Until she’s staring at the bracelets and the wristbands she’s gathered over the years.

At the fraying, faded hair tie sitting buried underneath them all.

It’s something Chloe has been thinking about more and more, lately. Something shoving her closer and closer to some imaginary ledge with every new day.

They’ve had so many chances.

They still do, honestly. And… maybe this is it. Maybe this is just how _Rachel and Chloe_ comes to an end. With Chloe getting a crash course in every shitty replacement she’s found for Rachel over the years. With Chloe walking away from that interaction feeling like someone scooped out her insides, shook out the rest of her, and dumped everything back in. With Chloe deciding that maybe she’s _just too tired_ to keep trying. To keep fighting. To keep dealing with all of the baggage they’ve built up year after year after year. Maybe this is how that _maybe someday_ becomes reality.

She could just… get up, get into her truck, and drive. She could knock on Dana’s door. Give them both a perfectly good excuse to ignore their plans and their lives and their friends and their families and to stay inside until the morning.

She _could_.

It would be so easy.

Things with Dana have always been easy.

But.

Then.

It wouldn’t be fair. Dana might let her, and Chloe might hide the relentless screeching of her guilt over that fact behind weeks, and months, and years of selfish _want_ finally getting everything it ever asked for. Because Dana might let her. But she wouldn’t be happy. And neither would Chloe. Not really.

Because it wouldn’t be fair.

Not after the way they resolved to burn those feelings down together. To build up something new out of the ash and the rubble until what stood in its place was something truly and honestly indestructible.

So, no, Chloe doesn’t want to. Not really. She might be tired, but some part of her still wants to fix this. Some part of her still wants to keep fighting, and to figure out how to take what she has with Rachel and turn it into something stronger. Something meaningful. Something _good_. Because Rachel _is_ good for her. And she’s good for Rachel. They’re good for each other. They _are_. But they both have so much bullshit and trauma trailing behind them every single day that it’s become impossibly easy to make one single mistake; just one; to trip, and to fall, and to create the kind of mess that leads them right back to here.

Still. That doesn’t mean what they have is worth giving up.

And Chloe won’t give it up. Not yet.

She might be tired, but she isn’t done.

Not yet.

~*~

“You out here, Chloe?”

Cracking a little half smile, Chloe grinds what’s left of her cigarette against the wall and climbs back to her feet. “Over here.”

For her trouble, she gets to watch Joyce fake a few coughs and wave her hand in front of her nose like the scent of cigarette smoke is absolutely _scandalous_. Like she didn’t finally manage quit herself barely a few months back.

“I really wish you’d find a healthier habit.”

She does have a point, though.

Chloe knows exactly how bad it’s gotten.

“I know,” Chloe’s voice quiets. “I’m sorry.”

But Joyce only hits her with a calm, motherly smile in return. “Yeah, yeah,” she says. “I know better than to try guiltin’ someone into it.”

It’s a rare enough show of concern to make Chloe wonder. But not enough to stop her from putting up walls. From breathing out a laugh and rubbing at the back of her neck. They haven’t bothered to act like family in a long time. So, even if this means some sort of scolding is coming, this moment, however small, has value. It means something. And Chloe grabs onto that something with everything she has.

“Did you, uh… Did you need something?” Chloe asks.

“Why, yes I did!” Joyce says lightly. “Congratulations, you’re suspended.”

Yeah.

Okay.

Chloe probably could have seen that one sooner. “Is this because of today, or…?”

“Why, did something happen today?”

“You… you know what, never mind,” Chloe sighs, reaching up to rub that flash of worry out of her eyebrows. “Why am I suspended?”

Joyce doesn’t answer right away. She regards Chloe for a moment like she almost regrets having to do this.

But then, she’s still doing it. “…D’you want the details, or just like, the really good stuff?”

Chloe shrugs. Either works. “Any reason we can’t have this conversation inside?”

“Oh,” Joyce starts thoughtfully, leaning back on her heels and folding her arms over her chest. “You know damn well how our regulars get about gossip, they’d never let me hear the end of it.”

“I’ll be sure to put up a fight on their behalf,” Chloe monotones. Joyce isn’t even the one in charge of firings, so she isn’t entirely sure why she’s just rolling over and letting this happen.

Maybe Joyce picks up on that particular strand of confusion, maybe not, but she pauses again before answering. And she stares at Chloe like it’s the first time she’s bothered to really take in what her daughter looks like in years.

Hell, it might just be.

“Look,” Joyce says, her voice and her eyes and her expression steadily softening. “You’re goin’ through something. I won’t ask for details, but it ain’t healthy to try coping like this, and I don’t like seein’ it.”

A short, awkward moment passes where Joyce reaches, for Chloe’s shoulder. She stops halfway and pulls her hand back to herself, so obviously unsure about whether it would help or hurt things after so many years stuck in this routine of theirs. Shallow conversation, forced friendliness, and whatever else it takes to keep things from boiling over and turning into another big, angry, blowout that ends with David’s fist on Chloe’s face and Chloe refusing to step foot in that house for at least a week.

That she can’t find the strength to complete the gesture is probably Chloe’s fault.

Most things usually are, these days.

“Just… Take some time and take care of yourself, Chloe. Go home. Go to Rachel’s, or wherever you two are always disappearin’. Sleep in a real bed. I already talked to the boss about it, and he doesn’t want to see you back here until you do. You’re not fired, but whether you come back tomorrow or a month from now is up to you.”

If she still had it in her to put up a fight, Chloe might have tried. But she doesn’t. Because she can’t.

“It – I can’t, mom. It’s complicated.”

“No one ever called your problems with Rachel and little Maxine _simple_ , but that’s not an excuse. Never was.” Joyce says, with the _exact_ same sense of finality in her voice that only ever got dragged out when Chloe was a kid.

When she was nervous about something she had done to, or with, or _for_ Max, and took to hiding or acting tough rather than facing the music.

“What?” Leaning against the door because she _knows_ Chloe understands, Joyce chuckles. “You think I don’t think pay attention just because you’re growin’ up and livin’ your own life? I _am_ still your mother. Now – I won’t pretend to _understand_ what sorta new age nonsense you three are gettin’ yourselves wrapped up into, but there’s a spark in your eyes these days that I haven’t seen ever since you were little.”

She does have a point. Chloe knows she does.

But it also stings to hear. The reasons Chloe has for propelling her life in this direction are specifically _because_ Joyce doesn’t ever act like a fucking mother, and she doesn’t get to pull that card out _now_ and act like everything is fine.

Not after David.

…But – and there’s always a but, these days – Chloe is tired.

She misses Max.

She misses Rachel.

She misses a lot of things.

And Joyce does have a point.

So, that particular issue doesn’t find a voice.

“All I’m sayin’ is that you have bagged something truly good here, Chloe.” Joyce adds, a bit more hesitant after the pause. She’s trying hard to avoid making Chloe mad. “And I know the reason you’re hiding out in your truck is because you are head to toe your father’s daughter. You get angry and you get worried in all the same ways. And don’t even get me started that pride of yours,” a soft, wistful bit of laughter escapes. “Chloe Price, promise me you will go fix whatever it is that got broke. Even if you’re not the one who broke it.”

“Mom…”

“Sort your shit out, because there’s no way it’s happening here.”

“ _Mom…_ ”

“You’re the only one of us Price women still young and brave enough to manage it.”

Chloe sighs.

And then she stops.

Because that isn’t how motivational pep talks usually come to an end.

She waits patiently for more.

“I’m sorry I never tried to stop David,” Her voice small, and sad, and _tired_ , Joyce continues. “He… he gets violent, I know. I should’ve seen it sooner. Should’ve been a better mother. Hell, should’ve believed you the first time.”

Chloe swallows down her confusion and asks the only question she can.

“…Is everything… are you okay?”

All it earns her, is another sad smile. “I’m _old_. And I’m only gettin’ older, and I threw away the key to whatever escape there might’ve been for myself years ago. But _you_ can still make something good happen, Chloe. This town’s too small for you. Don’t do this yourself.”

“You…” Chloe tries, completely off balance. She isn’t sure she knows what she wants to say. She isn’t sure there _is_ a correct thing to say. “You can still leave him, mom.”

“No. I can’t,” is Joyce’s answer, and it feels a little like a punch to the gut. “Not anymore. But Chloe, this is about you. You’re lettin’ something good slip through your fingers with every day you insist on diggin’ in your heels to live a life that we both know isn’t yours. William and I raised you to be better than us. Now go be better.”

It doesn't _fix_ anything. Not really. This doesn't erase any of what Joyce excused. Allowed. Ignored. But that doesn't stop it from feeling a little like a punch to the gut. A little like that, and a lot more like Chloe’s entire world being flipped on its head. Because for years – _years_ – there were simple truths that framed Chloe’s life like the earth and the sky and the stars: Max didn’t want her, she wanted Seattle. Her mom didn’t want her, she wanted David. But Rachel did. Despite everything, Rachel wanted her.

And then she met Kate.

And then she met Dana.

And they, the three of them, built something special. Something meaningful. Something that cemented itself into the framework of Chloe’s life every bit as firmly as the truths that came before. And for even longer, _those_ were the truths that defined her life: Chloe had Kate, she had Dana, she had Rachel, and she did not have, or want, or _need_ anyone else.

But now Max is back.

Max is back, and she ripped those truths to shreds in less than a month. Max is back, and she wants Chloe in her life with an absolutely dizzying intensity.

And now Rachel wants Max.

Now Rachel cares about Max. Now Rachel is worried about Max.

Max. Max. _Max._

Now… Now Joyce is saying that she _did_ care. That everything Chloe believed to be true was wrong – and, god, how much of an asshole does that make her for always being supportive of Rachel’s situation, but never sparing the same amount of empathy for her own mother when she was so obviously caught in the same situation?

Now nothing left standing makes the first bit of sense.

So, Chloe reaches out for the only thing that feels like it might put the ground back beneath her feet. She hugs Joyce as tight as she can. She hugs Joyce for the first time in years.

And she promises to go home.

~*~

The drive away from the Two Whales is mostly quiet.

The roads are mostly empty.

Chloe, mostly, forgets to turn on the radio.

She’s not sure it matters. Her thoughts won’t leave her alone long enough to actually hear anything else.

~*~

When Chloe makes it home, the rest of her exhaustion finally catches up to her. The parts she’s been running from. Hiding from. The parts that have nothing to do with Max, or Rachel, or the absolute shitshow her life has become. Something much more mundane: that particular friction of dry eyes and drier eyelids that makes the world seem to spin slower on its axes and the air itself seem heavier and heavier until you have no more choice but to give in and go to sleep.

But Chloe is still Chloe. And she would never be able to live with herself if she let something so simple win that easily.

So, she climbs to the top of the stairs, and heads for the bathroom instead of her bed, her movements already going sluggish with every new breath. She undresses lazily and unhurried, and turns on the shower, waiting and watching for the steam to build before she stumbles her way in and slides the door shut behind her.

The water is scalding hot.

Chloe makes sure to stand absolutely still as she lets it wash over her, her head hanging low and one hand pressed flat to the wall for support against its steady pressure.

~*~

She doesn’t leave until every last drop of hot water is gone.

After, Chloe drags herself across the hall and into her room. She puts on new clothes. She puts on a new jacket – the old one is still sitting in some corner of Rachel’s dorm. She even considers texting Rachel to ask whether she’s willing to see her in a few hours. But she doesn’t. Better to surprise her. Better to show up unannounced and make herself that much harder to ignore, so the text goes unsent.

Again, she avoids her bed.

And, hoping for a drink, Chloe heads back down the stairs. Just one last item to check off the list before she finally lets herself sleep.

Just one more attempt at winning this fight against her exhaustion.

~*~

In the end, she loses.

Barely three steps into the kitchen, the front door slams open hard and slams shut even harder.

“Chloe!” Her new guest roars. America’s finest, here to keep the country safe from the likes of Chloe Price once again. “I know you’re here!”

For a second, she considers not answering.

For another, she thinks about the look he might have on his face when he realizes he stormed right past her.

But she doesn’t.

“In here, asshole,” Chloe sighs, walking out to meet him in the living room. Time to get it over with.

“Where the hell have you been?” Shouts David, chest already puffed and voice already making that ridiculous move to drop as deep as possible, like he thinks it makes him sound scarier. “Your mother has been worried _sick!_ ”

Chloe blinks, looking slowly around the room. It’s as good a place as any to take a nap.

“I doubt it. We worked the same shift every day this week.”

He punches her. So hard that her sense of balance struggles to catch up with the way she stumbles and trips into the side of the couch. With the way her vision spins like her eyes are bouncing around inside her skull.

“Don’t you take that tone with me, young lady. Why the hell haven’t you been home?”

Chloe can feel the bruise forming already.

If this were any other day, she might choose this moment to give up and stop fighting back. But it isn’t. Between what happened at the diner, and what happened with Joyce, and what happens to every single thing in her life, always and forever, she decides to stand her ground.

“What kind of crazy,” Chloe asks, her voice perfectly calm and measured. “Would I have to be, to willingly come home when _you’re_ here?”

David’s mustache twists itself up in a scowl, but Chloe continues before he can even think to interrupt her.

“Now hurry the fuck up and get to the main event. You’re boring me and I have shit to do.”

David takes two measured steps closer until he’s towering over her, all clenched fists and pent up anger. “Oh, you’re _real_ tough when you're not busy protecting one of your little sluts, aren’t you?”

“Tough as nails, motherfucker,” Chloe growls.

Dealing with the rest of his anger is easy.

Chloe takes every last hit. She keeps herself standing. Keeps herself watching. Until the very last second. Until he gets lucky, and she loses her balance, and the arm of the couch decides to pitch in and sucker-punch her on the way down.

She doesn’t watch anything else after that.

~*~

Everything is dark when Chloe finally comes to.

She tries to pick herself up, but the strain causes her to black out again.

~*~

The next time Chloe’s eyes open, everything is still dark. She’s lying partially under the coffee table.

She tests her fingers, one by one. Still working.

Her arms, too.

Her neck.

Her jaw, her legs, and the rest of her. All working.

All _hurting_ , but still working. Good enough.

She’s had worse.

There’s always worse.

As far as she can tell, nothing is broken, but she’s definitely tasting blood. Her ribs are sore. And there’s a dried, cracked trail of something on her face that must’ve started somewhere past her hairline.

~*~

Chloe doesn’t know how long it takes to gather herself up and climb back to her feet. She doesn’t know much of anything beyond that she’s a little dizzy, her jaw hurts a bit if she moves it in certain ways, and she _needs_ to find Rachel.

That asshole can steal all the time he wants. He can snap every bone in her body. But he doesn’t get to steal this from her, too. He doesn’t get to keep her away from Rachel.

~*~

Chloe doesn’t remember putting on her boots.

But, somewhere out on the lawn, she finally remembers to spit out the blood in her mouth.

~*~

She doesn’t remember climbing into her truck.

Or starting her truck.

Or reaching for the unopened bottle of tequila Rachel keeps hidden in the glove compartment.

But she’s already halfway through the entire thing when she realizes what she’s doing. It isn’t enough to get her drunk. Not anymore. But it at least helps with the pain. So, she doesn’t stop until it’s gone.

~*~

Time comes and goes in bursts, after that.

Just about the only thing Chloe _does_ remember is the beat of the lights lining the road and waking up to the aftermath of a fight between her truck and a particularly big pine tree off some side street near the edge of town. Her face is buried in an airbag, this time. The fact that her truck even _has_ functioning airbags comes as something of a revelation, rusted shitbucket that it is.

And the truck seems fine enough from where she sits. So, she looks around, checks again to make sure her body is still in working order – it is, she’s had worse – and prepares to walk the rest of the way to Blackwell.

Because she can’t go home.

Not tonight.

~*~

Somehow, the sky is still dark when Chloe reaches Blackwell campus. She isn’t entirely sure how long she’s been walking, just that the flickering lights guiding her toward the dorms are an incredible welcome sight.

Stumbling her way closer and closer, she sits, like her body has no more energy left to give, on the front steps.

A moment passes. Then another.

At least she made it.

It could always be worse.

There’s always worse.

Chloe pats around in her pockets, hoping to find a either a spare pack of cigarettes or a lighter – just _something_ to do with her hands – and instead managing to find both. She taps one cigarette free from the crumpled-up box, places it slowly, unsteadily, between her lips, and occupies herself for the better part of a minute with trying to light it. Eventually it catches.

She takes a long, shaky drag, letting her eyes fall closed when the smoke hits her tongue. And she pulls out her phone. Pulls up a number. And calls.

It rings once.

Twice.

Chloe settles in and makes herself a bit more comfortable, resting back on an elbow and stretching out her legs when it rings again.

Three rings.

Four.

The next cuts off halfway.

“Chloe?” Rachel’s voice crackles through the speakers, raspy with sleep and distorted with the static of the call. She sounds more confused than usual. She must’ve been sleeping. It’s the middle of the night. She was definitely sleeping.

Chloe doesn’t answer. She continues working slowly through her cigarette.

“… _Chloe?_ ” The voice asks again, and there’s real worry this time. Enough to convince Chloe to speak up, because there’s never _worry_ , she always comes to get Chloe first and asks her questions later.

“Outside,” is all she manages in return. Her voice sounds like someone else’s. Worn down and cracking at the edges. Barely holding itself together.

She can hear Rachel rushing wordlessly to get out of bed and get dressed. It takes longer than normal. She isn’t sure why.

Before long, she hears the click of a door opening, then footsteps, and breathing and breathing, and _breathing_ , and then the click of another door. And for a time after that, there isn’t anything but more footsteps, the hollow echo reaching out through her phone’s speakers. And then…

And then _Max_ is there, rushing to the bottom of the steps with her phone still pressed to her ear like she doesn’t even realize it’s still in her hand. Rushing to see what’s wrong. Her brow draws down as she carefully takes in the fresh bruise under Chloe’s right eye, and the one on her jaw, and the cut on her neck, and the reopened something on her forehead, trickling fresh blood over the dried and cracked flakes from before. There are definitely others. Chloe never bothered to check. The crash probably gave her a few as a parting gift. It’s fine, though.

She’s had worse.

Still. Something hurts, deep in her chest, when she reaches over to pry Max’s phone from her fingers and Max startles so badly that she leaps an inch or two into the air. Something hurts, seeing Max like this. Knowing Max sees _her_ like _this_.

“Max,” she breathes, nearly speechless.

Because she called Rachel.

She’s _sure_ she called Rachel.

“I,” Chloe tries, feeling something unfamiliar and uncomfortable and entirely unwelcome bubbling up in the back of her throat. “I – I called Rachel.”

Max stares at her then. _Really_ stares.

“No, you didn’t.”

“No… No, I… I did. I _did._ I always call – ”

“Chloe,” Max whispers, leaning forward to brush a few matted, messy clumps of hair out of her face. “I’m not an expert, but… I think you need a hospital.”

On reflex, she shoots back with an answer before Max is even finished talking “No hospital. It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ve had w – ”

“Yeah, yeah _you’ve had worse._ We’re not kids anymore, Chloe!”

“…I have.”

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better like this is on the same level as you getting scraped up after a skating accident! You… What the hell happened?”

Chloe knows she should stay quiet. She should ignore the question, and tell Max to forget about seeing her, and she should dial the right _fucking_ number, this time.

But she doesn’t.

“Stepf – ” Chloe starts, but her throat tenses up and stops her from saying anything else.

And when the name registers, Max studies her silently. For what feels like an eternity.

“I still think you need a hospital,” Max answers. “But I… I have a first aid kit in my room, if you’d rather.”

Chloe isn’t entirely sure how to answer that.

So, she doesn’t.

“Well, great! What the hell, Chloe?” Max hisses, panic in her voice almost as clear as the anger shining in her eyes. She’s holding Chloe’s face steady between her palms like she thinks it’ll make any progress toward getting an answer she wants. “If that’s off the table too, what now? Are you just gonna pout and bleed out?”

 _Yes_ , Chloe thinks.

She’s had worse.

There’s always worse.

 _Yes,_ she thinks, snorting out what was meant to be a resigned laugh, before it trips and stumbles into a coughing fit that sends blood flying out of her mouth and her nose and splattering all over the concrete at their feet, until she’s left with nothing but the smell of metal in her sinuses and a complete lack of an argument.

~*~

She lets Max guide her inside without putting up a fight. Without another word. Even when they start climbing the stairs and Max strokes a hand up and down her spine, urging her steadily forward like she’s afraid the momentum lost in stopping or slowing might cause something in Chloe to break.

Chloe only lets herself think about that detail for a second.

Because this isn’t how she expected tonight to go.

This isn’t who she expected to see.

And, fuck, Max, at this point it just might.

~*~

“I don’t know,” Max blurts, in the middle of cleaning up Chloe’s neck with an absolutely breathtaking level of care.

Chloe turned down the offer for a shower and hasn’t let Max check anything under her clothes, either. Sore leg. Sore rib. Sore jaw. She knows what _worth mentioning_ feels like by now, and they aren’t it. Besides, even if Max doesn’t see it as anything more than help, Chloe isn’t sure she could handle it right now.

“I don’t know, exactly, what you and Rachel were arguing about the other day… But you don’t have to hide parts of yourself away from me. Okay? Five years is a lot of time, of _course_ you’d be a different person. We’re _all_ different people. Like, look at me!” Max cracks a quick little smile, glancing up from her work to meet Chloe’s eyes. “I added _layers_ to my wardrobe, and… anyway, I – I’m rambling. Sorry. It’s just… I miss being close with you a lot more than I miss being twelve with you.”

Chloe gapes, speechless as she leans against the sink where Max has her propped up.

And Max meets Chloe’s eyes again, smiling even wider.

“Whatever it is? Whatever’s different now? You’re still you, Chloe,” Max says with such a gentle sincerity that Chloe feels like her heart might just burst through her chest. “And I missed the hell out of you.”

Max means it. She means to make Chloe feel better. Which just makes it worse. Because that is exactly what she said to Max when all of this started.

Chloe opens her mouth.

But after the week she’s had, she doesn’t have words.

And a harsh sob rips through her throat before she can find them. She’s being swept up into Max’s arms before she realizes it’s happening.

So Chloe pulls Max even closer. Slides her arms up along Max’s back and clutches at her shirt as tight as she can. Because, fuck. _Fuck._ It’s bad enough she had to involve Max in tonight, but Max knows all about her history by now, and she’s still… she’s seen so many of Chloe’s mistakes and she’s still _like this_. She’s still Max. She’s still here and willing to help, and asking for permission to help with more, and that fact isn’t anything other than the final nail in the wall being pried free and letting Chloe absolutely fucking shatter to pieces.

Because for Max to be like this? It means what happened with Rachel this time was Chloe’s fault.

She fucked it up.

No one else.

Rachel was right, and Chloe ruined everything because she couldn’t see what was right in front of her face.

Chloe always thought they were strong enough to deal with the gaps in their relationship. The time apart. The people they squeamishly fucked in the back of an RV held together with duct tape, or a gas station parking lot where the security cameras never work, or the beach, or some Vortex kid’s house, or at a shitty fucking run down motel three miles over that was only ever an offer Chloe took seriously because Stepshit kicked her out and it meant spending the night in a warm building, in a warm bed, with a warm body next to her.

Because it meant she wouldn’t have to risk the possibility that _this_ would be the time Rachel sees her broken and bruised and turns her away. She wouldn’t have to risk the possibility that Rachel might not care whether she feels safe anymore. That maybe Rachel is done. Over it all. Never trying again.

Because it meant that whenever she made it back into Rachel’s arms, pretending that what she was doing was anything other than hiding in fear; wondering whether David might finally snap and beat her just a little bit too hard or choke her just a little bit too long, and that would be the end of it, Rachel would be strong enough to help. That when Rachel came to her for the very same reasons, _she_ would be strong enough to help.

Chloe always thought they _were_. Strong enough. To deal with that. To deal with anything.

And maybe they were.

But in came Max, and something _changed._ Chloe burned the entire thing to the ground without even trying.

In came Max, asking for friendship and instead being handed the flaming wreckage of something that maybe, one day, _used to be_ strong.

And here Max is now, helping her through it like the only thing that matters to her is getting Chloe back on her feet and ready to try again.

Here Max is now, trying to give her that strength.

She’s holding Chloe close. Holding her tight, and she is being _so_ careful about where she touches. She’s holding on as tight as she can without bothering Chloe’s injuries, and it’s almost too much. Max is almost too much.

God, she loves Max.

Too much.

“S’okay now,” Chloe whispers, pulling away just enough to meet Max’s eyes. “I’m okay.”

But Max doesn’t move. Doesn’t give her space. She stares, disbelieving, and brushes the tips of her fingers over Chloe’s temple in a gesture that feels so unlike the Max that Chloe remembers.

“I… I need,” Max starts, swallowing down the rest of that sentence before it gets a chance to escape. “I have an ice pack in my room. For – for this bruise.”

Oh.

“ _Oh_.”

“Yeah.”

Chloe drops her head forward, letting it settle gently against the bridge of Max’s nose and breathing out a burst of tension she barely realized was starting to build back up. “I’ll be fine, Max.”

“Are you sure?”

In place of saying anything else, Chloe half smiles and musses up Max’s hair.

The smile slips away as soon as Max is gone.

~*~

Max’s absence stretches on for far longer than Chloe would have expected. Which would be fine in any other context. But being left alone _tonight_ puts Chloe in an uncomfortable spot.

She doesn’t know how to deal with nights like these without Rachel’s company. Max is helpful, and Max is wonderful, and Chloe would never turn down the chance to spend the rest of the night with her, but Max can’t offer what Chloe _needs_. Because what Chloe needs is to forget. She needs to hurt someone and to let them hurt her back until the rest of her pain is forgotten, overwritten, and she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that she is in control of her life and her actions and her own god damn body again.

Max can’t be that for her. Not when she’s still so embarrassed about the sort of innocent affection that Chloe and Rachel carry around with them every single day. The little touches, and looks, and the ways that they subconsciously disagree with the entire concept of distance when they’re together. Chloe would give Max the world if she asked. But she’s still so hesitant with the things that she wants.

So, Max can’t be that for her.

And Rachel _won’t_ be that for her. Not if she finds out what’s happening.

Without thinking, Chloe reaches for her wrist.

No.

Not Dana, either.

She won’t ruin that, too. Not over something like this. She can wait in here for Max to finish playing doctor, and figure out what to do from there.

~*~

Life, however, isn’t content to give Chloe that chance.

She doesn’t know how long Max has been gone when it happens, but eventually a nearby door opens and someone stomps out of their room, grumbling drowsily about the noise.

And then Dana is there.

Wearing nothing but a thin cotton tank top and shorts.

And Chloe remembers in that instant that her room is practically next door. She woke Dana up. One more mistake. One more thing Chloe ruined.

Fuck.

Barely a second after stepping into view, Dana blinks herself awake and registers exactly what it is that she’s looking at.

To Chloe’s surprise, rather than chew her out or ask why Chloe is here, Dana’s eyes shoot open, and she flies across the room rushing to help. To put her hands on Chloe’s cheeks and her shoulders and to touch and to look and to take in every last detail until she finally understands what she’s looking at.

“Holy _shit_ , Chloe what happened?” Dana hisses, with just a bit more than a tinge of desperation in her voice.

Chloe takes a slow, shuddering breath. She tells Dana everything. Every last thing. She lets Dana worry, and check for any injuries hidden underneath her clothes, and ask the questions she needs to ask.

And she tries to answer them all as honestly as she can.

And, she keeps her attention on Dana. On her eyes and her mouth and on the careful, gentle way she keeps sliding her palms over Chloe’s shoulders. Because it turns out that the real Dana is a far more soothing presence than the one she’s been avoiding in her head, lately. It’s been a long time since Chloe has seen her without any makeup, and she feels somehow warmer without it. More open, and vulnerable, and… it sends a familiar spark of electricity racing through her veins, being able to see her this way.

Dana catches her expression and smiles, lips pale pink and so soft, and Chloe almost doesn’t catch herself in time. She almost lets herself lean forward, and…

“Do I have Rachel to thank for patching you up, this time?” Dana asks, the faintest little smirk toying at the corner of her mouth.

“Uh,” Chloe grunts, trying to move away with a nervous cough. She doesn’t. Dana’s pull over her has always been too strong for that. “Max. Actually. She’s around somewhere.”

She can practically _feel_ Dana’s smile grow wider. “Oh, you’ve got it _bad,_ huh?”

Chloe nods, and continues staring into Dana’s eyes, because she can’t bring herself to do much else, right now.

“This one wasn’t on purpose,” She says, trying for a lighthearted joke and failing spectacularly. Dana reaches behind Chloe’s ear and scratches. She steps just a bit closer, a sympathetic glint in her eyes. And that’s how Chloe knows it fell flat. “Can you, uh…”

“What, sweetie? Anything,” Dana urges, words complimented by a sense of resolve shining in her eyes that feels completely unshakable.

Chloe swallows, unsteady.

“Stay,” she says. Asks. Begs. All of them and none of them at once. “I know Kate could help. She always _wants_ to help, but… It would – I mean…”

Hands still expertly weaving around Chloe’s injuries and effortlessly working her mood into something closer to _relaxed_ , Dana smiles fondly. “What, _break her heart?_ Chlo, I’d expect you of all people to know better.”

But Chloe shakes her head. That isn’t what she meant. “Mine.”

Dana hums her confusion.

“It would break mine,” Chloe clarifies, and Dana almost falls apart then and there. Her fingers slow to a still, so Chloe lets her eyes fall shut. She lets herself lean further into Dana’s touch in the absence of that movement. “She’s doing so fuckin’ good lately, Dana. I don’t think I could handle letting her see me like this.”

Dana doesn’t answer.

Dana doesn’t move.

“ _Please._ ”

And then she does, as she pulls Chloe into a hug, kissing the tip of her nose and tucking Chloe’s head into the crook of her neck. “Okay. I’ll stay here with you,”

Chloe doesn’t bother trying to return the gesture. She lets her arms dangle ineffectually at her sides for a few moments, until the feeling of Dana’s words, and Dana’s skin, and Dana’s touch starts to become too much to deal with. She uses that feeling to propel herself into asking the question that she’s had on her mind for too many days to count. The question that she’s been using as an excuse to stay away from Dana. To be nervous around Dana.

They’ve danced this dance before. The answer is always the same.

But at this point, the throbbing temptation in the back of her head, to ask again, to _know_ again, is too much to handle.

“If,” Chloe swallows, angling her head just slightly back. “I know nothing would be different. Not really. None of…” She shrugs stiffly. “None of _this_ would magically disappear. But I still wonder… If I – if I ended things with Rachel, you know, how differently my life would’ve gone.”

Dana takes a single short step back. Which is about what Chloe expected.

And, looking absolutely heartbroken, Dana cups Chloe’s face in her palms. “Don’t say that, I’m no one special.”

But Chloe shakes her head. Just gently enough to keep Dana’s hands from sliding away. She stares into her eyes and tries to convey exactly how untrue that really is. To make her believe.

“You _are._ ”

Dana smiles. Her cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink. “No,” she says, leaning down to kiss Chloe lightly on the forehead, and the feeling of her lips fills Chloe’s whole body with the vaguest hint of the sort of warmth that she’s been searching for all night long. The sympathetic, understanding look in Dana’s eyes makes it pulse to life just a little bit stronger. “No, you’re the incredible one here, Chlo. I’m just a girl with some feelings.”

Dana is much, _much_ more than that.

She always will be.

But maybe this is enough.

Maybe, if she has this, she can make it through the night after all.

“Now scoot,” Dana yawns, the hint of cheer in her voice just strong enough to sweep Chloe into her rhythm. “If we’re gonna talk about the past at three in the morning, you’re letting me cuddle.”

So, Chloe slides over, a smile stretching ear to ear and her worries already being defused by just that; nothing more than Dana’s enthusiasm and the feeling of their hips and thighs touching as they struggle to find enough room for the both of them to lean up against the sink. Dana kisses her again on the cheek, just barely jostling them both back and forth before she leans fully into Chloe’s side, and rests her head on her shoulder with long, drawn out groan.

“Do you remember the first time we hung out as friends?” Dana asks, thoughtfully.

Chloe laughs through her nose. “Yeah.”

“Mmh, if we’re talking about things we want to do over, l would _definitely_ go for that.” Dana says, nodding for emphasis. “I haven’t seen Nervous Chloe make a reappearance even _once_ since then. Like, don’t get me wrong, you falling asleep on top of me at the end of the night was absolutely precious, but my _god_. You? Shy? I’ll never forget that.”

Nudging her lightly in the shoulder, Chloe chuckles. “ _Fucker._ ”

But Dana only echoes her laughter, reaching over and squeezing at Chloe’s thigh.

“Actually,” Chloe mumbles, a thought suddenly crossing her mind. “If it’s embarrassment we’re after, what about the time you asked me to teach you how to skate?”

Dana gasps, the hand she brings to her mouth adding to that air of played-up offense at the suggestion. “You _wouldn’t_.”

But Chloe would.

She’s already grinning so hard that her cheeks ache just thinking about it.

“The way I remember it, you made it nearly three whole feet – ”

“No!”

“ – before you got a _single_ scrape, on _one_ of your knees – ”

“ _Nooo!_ ” Dana groans, shoving her weight into Chloe’s side until Chloe finally scoops her up into her arms to stop it.

“ – and you made me go along for that stupid eighties romantic comedy night at the theater to make it up to you.”

“Hey, those movies are _classics,_ ” Dana says, completely oblivious to the love shining in Chloe eyes. Until she turns. Until she _does_ see. “…Besides, you loved it.”

She did love it.

Chloe pulls her closer in response, nuzzling herself into Dana’s hair as a sort of apology. And maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s the time, or maybe it’s some other combination of some other meaningful things, but Dana lets her take that moment of peace and quiet. She lets Chloe relax, and breathe, and truly _stop_ for the first time that night.

“You’re not the only one who wonders, by the way,” Dana says after so long that Chloe has nearly lost the thread of conversation. “I’m sure I’ll always be carrying a torch for you. But that doesn’t mean it’s worth ruining something good over.”

Chloe shifts just enough to press her lips to the top of Dana’s head. And she waits.

“Like, okay, I might not have you in the same way as Rachel… Or _Maaax_ ,” She teases, nudging herself into Chloe’s side again, and inviting Chloe to do the same. “But I like us. What we have. We’re good like this. There are sides of you that only I get to see, and I wouldn't give that up for all the _Chloe Price lovin'_ in the world.”

It’s never easy to hear. It’s probably always harder to say. But Chloe understands the sentiment with every fiber of her being. So, she squeezes her arm around Dana’s shoulder, trying without trying to hold her just a bit closer. Just a bit tighter. To let her know that she understands.

“Though, for the record, Chlo? I would absolutely blow your mind,” Dana quips, punctuating the thought with a quick little poke to her ribs.

And Chloe snickers, faint and breathy and sleepy.

She believes it.

She always has.

~*~

When Max finally stumbles back into the room, she’s out of breath and already partway through her first sentence, so the only part Chloe actually hears is, “ – had to stick it in the minifridge because it was on my bookshelf for some reason, and while I was waiting for it to cool down I remembered I have sodas in there, and I could just grab one of those, and… oh! Dana. Hi.”

Dana smiles through her dozing – Chloe can feel it against her neck – but she doesn’t move, or make any attempt to open her eyes, so Chloe rocks them both slowly back and forth and presses one last kiss to the top of her head, hoping it might at least help.

“Wake up, dummy,” Chloe murmurs, quiet enough that Max won’t hear.

And Dana groans, and pouts, and takes her time stretching out each of her limbs, but she does stand up. She gathers up both of Chloe’s hands into hers and she meets her eyes. “You know where to find me if you need a shoulder to cry on,” she murmurs, leaning in for one last hug, too tight and too hard and backed by every bit of force her body can still manage this late or early in the night or the morning. It’s also exactly what Chloe needs, so she doesn’t complain. “Or even just a place to sleep. My door’s always open for you.”

Chloe nods and cracks another smile.

She reaches up to scratch under Dana’s ear. Her way of saying thank you.

She watches Dana drag herself over to the door, whisper something in Max’s ear – whatever it is, Max turns _red_ when she hears it – and then she’s gone.

It’s just her and Max and the hum of the fluorescent lights.

When Max awkwardly shuffles over and hands off the soda can in question, Chloe takes it and presses it to the bruise she’s been so worried about. Mostly to make Max feel better. It still throbs, but it’s fine. Mostly.

She’s had worse.

But it doesn’t seem to change anything in Max’s behavior. She seems suddenly shy. She’s standing a bit further back than Chloe would like, and she’s fidgeting. Quieter than before. So, Chloe moves to say something.

But Max beats her to the punch.

“I um,” She blurts, nervous and too fast, her mouth twisting up into something probably meant to be a smile. “I was talking to her – I mean, Dana, yesterday. I didn’t realize you two were so close. She – she thinks the world of you.”

Chloe can probably guess where this is going, so she reaches over and threads her fingers into Max’s hair. Gently, silently, asking her to move closer.

“She’s a good friend.”

A smile spreads across Max’s face. A real one, this time. But she’s still not looking at Chloe. She’s ducking her head just to the side, and doing that thing she always used to do as a kid: asking questions she already knew the answer to, just to hear the facts confirmed. “Oh?” She asks, so sincere that Chloe can’t help but smile back. “Like me?”

Hearing her ask that specific question is a bit more pleasing than Chloe would like to admit. Max is _flirting_.

 _God_ , she thinks, _Max is too much sometimes._

More and more often lately. Every time Chloe sees her, it’s like she’s gotten a little more confident. Like she’s gotten a little more familiar with her limits, and still goes out of her way to blow straight past them to leap into the minefield of tension contained in those five missing years because she knows she’ll find what she wants buried somewhere just out of sight.

Every time Chloe sees her, it’s like she’s grown into that habit of wearing her feelings on her sleeve just a little bit more. Like she fashioning that behavior into her very own set of armor. And she isn’t quite there, but she’s come so far that it’s impossible not to smile when you see it. She’s still messy and still manic and her emotions _still_ come flying out of her mouth at a million miles an hour every time she tries to talk, but god if you can’t see the results of that effort whenever she does.

“Not like you,” Chloe says, gathering the strength to stand up and close the rest of the distance that Max is still too shy to cross. Her hands wrap gently around to the back of Max’s neck, and Chloe _knows_ that she’s treading dangerous ground, but she’s not sure she cares anymore. “Not like you, Mad Max.”

The sound of her voice makes Max shiver. Convinces Max to finally meet her eyes.

“You…” She whispers breathlessly, almost awestruck. “You called me Mad Max.”

With a quirk of her brow, Chloe asks, “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“No. I mean… _Yes_. But no.” A frustrated huff interrupts the rest of Max’s thoughts. But only for a moment. “I mean – okay, so, you’ve just been calling me _Max_ ever since that night at the beach… You _and_ Rachel, actually. I thought maybe I did something wrong…”

It hits Chloe in waves, that detail.

Because, obviously, with Chloe’s luck, the universe would choose to line things up like this. To make it so Max latches onto something that Chloe never even realized was happening in the first place, and treat it as something deathly important. Make it so that, in Chloe’s stress over the other parts of her life; parts completely out of Max’s control, she would forget to treat Max like she always, _always_ has.

It’s no wonder then, Chloe thinks, that Max has been trying so hard to learn about their time apart by asking everyone but Chloe herself.

She thought there was something to fix.

~*~

Another thought runs through Chloe’s mind while she waits patiently for Max to unlock the door to her room.

Maybe she doesn’t want to go back to treating Max like she used to.

Maybe Max doesn’t want that, either.

It would certainly explain why she’s been trying so hard to fill in the gaps in her knowledge of Chloe’s life.

Maybe Chloe could explain herself. She could sit Max down, tell her everything, and give the choice over to Max. Because all of this – everything that’s happened since she came back – has been in some way, shape, or form, due to Chloe refusing to explain something and Max making efforts to fill in those gaps.

Then again, for all that snooping, she hasn’t done anything wrong.

Max always _was_ the smart one.

But… maybe this isn’t the time for thoughts like that.

Chloe shakes her head in an attempt to wipe the idea away, out of her mind, and instead fails so badly that she manages to throw herself straight into memories of a time when she used to look at Max like she was one of those five-hundred-piece jigsaw puzzles. As if staring long enough might slide the right pieces into the right places and solve the mystery of Max Caulfield once and for all.

She’s been looking at Max the same way, these days.

So, maybe, actually, it _is_ the time for thoughts like that.

Maybe she could just… throw everything out there. And let Max take control. Let Max decide where to go. Let her make one last assumption; give one last answer, and let it guide them wherever it will.

Because the only possible reason Max could have for trying so hard is that she never stopped caring.

And if Max still cares, then maybe Chloe doesn’t actually have a reason to hold back.

The thought propels Chloe forward. It convinces her to lean over and wrap her arms around Max from behind. To inch closer until their bodies are pressed together.

For a moment – one so fast Chloe thinks she must have imagined it – Max tenses up. She stops moving, stops breathing, stops doing anything at all. But then every single part of her relaxes. And when Max rolls her shoulders seeking that much more contact, Chloe sighs, and she smiles.

Because this feels like Max _does_ still care.

This feels like maybe it’s okay that Chloe always loved Max. It feels Max might have always loved her, too.

Chloe chooses then to pull herself away. Because they’re still in the hallway, and Max’s door is still closed, and it’s still the middle of the night, and someone could wake up at any moment to find them like this.

She waits, wordlessly, as Max recovers and unlocks the door.

She lets Max flounder over their sleeping arrangements, too. Just long enough for it to be a surprise when Chloe pushes her onto the bed and tumbles down after her so that they’re finally face to face, chest to chest, legs tangled together and Max’s lips so close to her own that she can feel every hesitant, shallow breath.

Chloe expects her to laugh. Something light, and easy, and innocent. A reminder of the last time they did this. Some last-minute change in Max’s mood that might convince her _no, this is a bad idea,_ or that she’s running on nearly equal parts tequila and adrenaline and that this is absolutely no time to be making such an important decision.

But Max doesn’t laugh.

She doesn’t push Chloe away.

And before Chloe can stop herself, she’s leaning even closer. “Do you remember when we were kids, and you asked about my first kiss? Spin the bottle at a party or some shit.”

Max shuffles around nervously beneath her. Her hands are resting lightly on Chloe’s wrists, and her shirt is riding up, and…

“Didn’t shut up about it, either,” Chloe grins wolfishly. “So, I gave you yours.”

In reply, Max grips just a bit tighter, blushing and trying to look away. But they’re close enough now that anywhere she looks is still looking at Chloe.

Chloe ignores the doubt in her chest. She presses on.

Because she needs this.

And since Max _does_ love her, that means it must be okay.

“Could give you another first, if you’re up for it.”

Max’s grip tightens even more. Chloe ignores it this time, too. She brushes their noses together, and it pulls a stuttered breath out of Max’s mouth with so much force it seems like maybe she’s been holding it in for hours.

This time, Chloe listens.

This time, Chloe stops.

“Maximus,” she whispers.

Max squeezes even tighter, nails digging fresh bruises into her wrists by the time she works up the strength to turn and meet her eyes.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” promises Chloe, running her thumb along Max’s open mouth. No answer comes, so she trails it slowly lower. Down her chin and along the path of her throat.

Max doesn’t answer.

She doesn’t decide.

Her breathing stays quick and unsteady and she doesn’t stop clawing at Chloe’s wrists for a single second.

And Chloe thinks, faintly, that maybe Max is too scared. Maybe this is Max’s way of asking her to stop. Maybe it doesn’t matter whether she loves her or not. Maybe this is just something she’ll never be able to give.

Only, something happens, then.

Chloe doesn’t know whether she simply gave up and kissed Max, or if it was Max who reached up to kiss her.

But the feeling of Max’s lips on hers breaks the dam holding back five years of pent up feelings and thoughts and sends liquid flames coursing through Chloe’s every vein. Max’s lips are soft, and unsure, and somehow still the furthest fucking thing from passive, and as both of them struggle to pull the other closer, Chloe feels every one of those stubborn thoughts still telling her to slow down, or to stop, or to think this through a little longer all fading away into the static of an empty mind. Their mouths slide rough and careless against each other, and all Chloe can think; all Chloe can do, is struggle in indecision over whether to lick, or to suck, or to bite at the opportunities Max keeps giving her. The faint little high-pitched gasps for air and the refusal to push her away; the silent permission to take whatever she wants, whenever she wants it.

Something, somewhere, in some distant corridor of Chloe’s mind, rises out of the white noise in a last-ditch attempt to convince her to stop. It tells her that this might be a bad idea after all because Max is _still_ nervous. But Chloe can’t be bothered to listen with how distracted she is by the little sounds Max keeps making every time she drags her teeth over her lips, or the fact that this all feels _familiar_ even though it’s the first time she’s ever kissed Max this way. The first time she’s ever kissed Max more deeply than a simple, innocent little peck at the end of a simple, innocent sleepover.

It feels familiar, like maybe this is how they were always meant to end up.

And that feeling washes away everything else.

It makes Chloe feel like every day up until now was time spent trapped in the eye of a storm, and tonight is simply her taking that final step into the real thing. Out of the safety of their past and into whatever mystery the future holds.

It tells her that _Max_ is that storm, and whatever came before was just some tiny, insignificant speck buried so far inside that it couldn’t possibly have mattered. Not when the feeling of Max moaning beneath her is coursing through her like the steady, unyielding gusts of a whirlwind, whipping flames in every direction and ready to pluck them both into the sky where they’ll never reach the ground again.

Not when Max keeps repeating her name like a prayer, digging her nails in just a little bit harder with every new repetition.

_Chloe, Chloe, Chloe._


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re looking pretty rough.”
> 
> “And you look like shit,” Chloe replies, and Rachel chuckles. Her eyes sweep over to the truck as she leans into it, tying her hands together behind her back until her knuckles turn white with the strain because this _can’t_ be the time that they break beyond repair.
> 
> “Sweet talker,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The CW/TW for mentions of physical abuse continues into this chapter. There are also mentions of sexual abuse/csa regarding Frank and his involvement in Rachel's life.
> 
> The focus here is on the aftermath, but even though nothing explicitly happens, and even with references in previous chapters to what's coming, I don't want to catch anyone off guard with any part of this.

Rachel sees it first.

She jolts forward so fast that she triggers the lock on her seatbelt, but it isn’t enough to keep her from slapping her hands on the dash and shouting, “Holy shit, pull over!”

Taylor turns, confused and a little startled in Rachel’s direction. But her hands don’t leave the wheel. She doesn’t stop the car. She doesn’t pull over. So, Rachel hits her on the shoulder, yelling even more frantically as she does because she _knows_ what she just saw.

“Stop!” She slaps Taylor’s arm again. “The!” And again. “Car!”

She’s on her feet and crossing to the other side of the road, stumbling down into the ditch and sliding up to the side of Chloe’s truck before they’ve even finished rolling to a stop, leaving Taylor to flounder cluelessly back in her seat. Chloe’s windows are shattered, the keys are just barely still in the ignition, the airbags have long since gone off and deflated, and there is coughed up blood _everywhere_. But Chloe is nowhere in sight.

To try calming herself down, she pulls away from the window and circles around to the hood. Maybe, she thinks, something up there will make more sense. Maybe looking will help.

It doesn’t help.

The whole thing is smashed and dented to hell and back, littered with bits of bark and leaves, the tree it hit giving way and bending backward like it never stood a chance.

Looking doesn’t help.

So she tries _fixing_. Chloe has taught her enough for a cursory judgement. Chloe has taught her the basics. She might not be able to do much without tools – not for now, anyway – but she can still make sure everything is intact. And that’s something. It’s enough of a something to occupy her mind and throw this wave of anxiety into the fucking ocean. Wrenching the hood open takes more than a few tries, given the particular way the grille is curled and buckled in on itself, but Rachel manages to find the magic amount of leverage sooner than later, and she’s poring over every detail to make sure nothing exploded or melted or leaked itself all over itself when Taylor _finally_ catches up.

“Shit,” Taylor whistles, sliding up to Rachel’s side.

 _Shit_ is right.

Everything _looks_ okay, but there’s no way to know for sure just yet. Rachel can identify the parts, and everything is definitely still _there_ , but without tools; without some way to get inside and dig around…

Turns out she knows less than she thought.

Which is, well, _shit._

One of Taylor’s hands brushes against her elbow, then.

“It’s a miracle she got out of this okay,” she says.

Rachel whirls on her the instant her words sink in.

“ _What._ ” The word comes as a hiss, carving an opening straight into Taylor’s personal space. Rachel was already panicking, bordering on hysterical, and now she is _angry._ “Did you fucking know about this?”

Taylor doesn’t flinch.

She takes her hands – the one still reaching out for where Rachel was and the one resting calmly at her side – and drops them heavily on Rachel’s shoulders. She stares her down, unflinching. “Breathe, Rach.”

Rachel doesn’t.

But then, Taylor doesn’t flinch.

And Rachel isn’t exactly in the right headspace to engage Taylor in a battle of wills, standing in the middle of a ditch on the side of the road next to Chloe’s probably-totaled truck at ten in the morning. So, she gives in first. She breathes. The motion comes unsteady and stuttered; only pulling in a fraction of the air her lungs can hold, and yet still far more than they’re willing to accept.

Taylor smiles comfortingly. “Better?”

“No.” Rachel grunts. “But,” She waves her hand, impatient. _Say what you were going to say_.

“Dana texted me late last night. Chloe is _fine_ , just a little banged up.”

Rachel opens her mouth, hoping to claw back control of the situation – by force, if necessary – but Taylor, as always, sees it coming a mile away and cuts her off before she can get in so much as a breath.

“But she didn’t tell me about _this._ I would have barged straight into your room if I knew!” She says, looking quickly to Chloe’s truck and then back to Rachel, her expression sliding into something stern and serious in the transition. _“_ And before you ask something stupid like _why wouldn’t she mention that,_ why does Dana _always_ come to me a few details short when you’re not there for Chloe?”

Rachel blinks. Once, and twice.

The panic leaves her in one fluid wave, then.

Because Dana being too nervous to tell her is something that makes sense, at least. It’s a bit of familiar ground; solid and unmoving beneath her feet; a chance to understand.

Dana doesn’t tell her a lot about Chloe, these days. Not because she likes playing dumb – she’s never been one to play dumb around Rachel. But she does _think_ dumb sometimes, and its why she doesn’t tell her these things directly. Why she always ropes in Taylor to try and casually bring the details up during some meaningless discussion the next day. Because she still gets _nervous_ about those feelings of hers.

She still feels guilty for loving Chloe, because she worries it might betray the friendship that she has with Rachel.

Her love is harmless, Rachel knows, but she’s heard the stories. About how, the first time she and Chloe took a break; the first time she realized that explaining Frank couldn’t be put off forever, Chloe spent hours and days and _weeks_ looking for her inside of every room, and about how – according to the Blackwell student body – if you squint hard enough through the fog of cheap party beer and cheaper party weed, Dana and Rachel are practically the same person: too many touches and too many laughs, years of drama club practiced smiles practiced to such a degree that they barely still register as _practiced_ , and electric charm oozing out of every word.

Dana cares about what she has with Chloe just like she cares about what she has with Rachel, and she worries about upsetting that balance because she is an absolute angel and of _course_ she would worry about things as minor as that. Of _course_ she would worry that Rachel might count the ways other people describe that night against her.

Even though what the three of them have goes far deeper than something so petty as jealousy.

Even though it doesn’t matter in the slightest, to Rachel’s mind, if they’re sleeping together. If it’s what Chloe needs, then it’s what Chloe needs. Rachel knew even before Chloe was hers that she wouldn’t ever be able to have her in typical ways. High school sweethearts escaping into the sunset, successful careers, two point five kids and a white picket fence ways. Not with the Frank shaped shadow looming overhead.

Even though Rachel has never, at any point, been anything but thankful to Dana for being able to do what she does.

Really, she loves Dana for it.

For being there for Chloe when no one else will. For loving Chloe. She could never hate Dana for that. Rachel could never hate anyone strong enough to be strong for Chloe.

In fact, Max is a little like Dana in that way. Diary Max, and Current Max, and everything in between. All of them _avoiding_ questions they desperately want to know the answers to and _asking_ questions they already do. All of them filling in the cracks and the fault lines left behind by the revolving door of friends in Chloe’s life with a liquid grace, so effortlessly, like it’s simply how things have always been; like they’ve always loved Chloe that intensely, and why would they ever feel differently?

All of them: Dana, and the Max Rachel knows, and the Max she never could, shying away when those feelings become too obvious; stacking up reasons to avoid confrontations like a fucking forest of jenga towers.

Because they don’t want anyone to worry.

Dumb.

Dumb.

Everyone who loves Chloe is dumb.

“Okay,” Rachel sighs, her eyes drifting slowly shut. “Okay,” she says with a deep, steady breath. “So, she spent the night with Dana – ”

But Taylor interrupts her again. “No. Apparently she disappeared a few hours after showing up.”

So, in the end, Chloe is still missing.

Great.

One of Rachel’s feet starts tapping impatiently at the grass before she can help it.

“Just,” she grunts, ready to start throwing punches if Taylor even thinks to try sticking around, because Chloe is gone, and _Max_ is in her head now, and that probably warrants some kind of further analysis, but Taylor’s presence here hasn’t helped with a single detail, and… headspace. “Just fucking _go_. I need to think.”

“Rach, I’m not gonna leave you alone on the side of the street.”

“ _Go!_ ” Rachel shrieks, waving her off and opening the gates wide to let her anger and her panic take control.

Slowly, hesitantly, Taylor backs away.

And she leaves Rachel alone.

When Taylor’s car has disappeared out of sight, Rachel moves. She climbs her way into the truck and gets to work. She scoops the knife Chloe normally keeps stashed in the glove compartment – the one currently taking up residence jammed between the seat cushions – and works at cutting away the steering wheel airbag.

Or, she means to, anyway. But when she reaches over, the keys fall the rest of the way out of the ignition, and her eyes catch on an empty bottle resting a few inches to their side. Tequila.

The bottle _she_ left in Chloe’s truck.

This is her fault.

It’s her fault Chloe is hurt. It’s her fault Chloe is missing.

It’s always her fault.

Someone stronger would ensure that Chloe’s safety was more than a fleeting, temporary thing.

If only Rachel was someone stronger.

Instead, this gets to be her fault.

Something sharp, and hot, and thick starts pricking at the backs of Rachel’s eyes, but she swallows the feeling down before it gets its chance to thrive. She funnels it into fuel for her anger. Slams her fist against the edge of the wheel. Kicks at the floor. Screams. Until her throat is sore and worn and raw, and her lungs are filled with flames. Because Chloe is missing, and she doesn’t know how to deal with that, but she knows how to deal with anger.

She knows how to deal with fire.

~*~

**Hey.**

The text comes later. Much later. When Rachel has resigned herself to slumping back into Chloe’s seat and letting her thoughts run so far ahead of her that she can’t see, or hear, or even think them anymore.

She checks the name.

Frank.

**Missed you the other day.**

Rachel doesn’t reply.

At least, not at first.

Not for the first minute that passes, and not for the second. Not when she’s still struggling to piece together some way that might begin to fix this absolute nightmare of a mistake. But, then a chill passes through her. All the way down to the bone. Her eyes open just a bit wider, and her throat threatens to close up.

She blew him off the other day.

For Max, and for Chloe.

And, Frank doesn’t _know_ that that’s why she did, but the fact remains that she said no.

She told Frank no.

Shit.

 _Shit_ shit.

She can’t just leave this mystery here unsolved and untouched when Chloe could still be hurt, but…

But she can’t risk ignoring Frank a second time, either.

Running both of her hands over both her ears, Rachel shoves all of her hair out of the way and drops her head against the steering wheel.

And something occurs to her.

 _Next time, worry about yourself first. I can handle a beating or two,_ Chloe’s promise echoes in her head, bouncing against memories of a starry night sky, warm summer air, and the steady chirping of crickets just outside the window. The taste of smoke, and cinnamon, and the third time Chloe ever said _I love you_. The feeling of barely-still-dyed hair brushing against her cheeks, and the piercing fire in those sparkling blue eyes as they locked onto her own. Thinning, years-old band tees riding up waists and hands on bare skin and lips and teeth and whispers of gasps and sweet little nothings, and… _And when you’re safe, I’ll be here._

Shit.

Of _course._

Frank found out.

And Chloe knew Frank would find out, because Frank _always_ finds out, because Frank sells drugs to a town full of morons that can’t keep a secret.

She threw herself back into the lion’s den like the selfless, courageous _dumbass_ that she is, just to make absolutely sure she would be there when Rachel needed her.

Rachel lurches suddenly forward in her seat, resting a hand on the dash.

“Sorry, girl. I’ll be back for you later. Promise,” she whispers soothingly before pocketing the empty bottle, ripping Chloe’s keys off the floor, and taking off down the road.

Rachel can’t ignore Frank. She can’t risk what might happen if she does.

But after? She knows where to find Chloe.

After, they can piece the broken shards of themselves back together. Just like they always have.

Just like they promised they always would.

~*~

Max doesn’t remember falling asleep. She especially does not remember falling asleep _alone_. But the realization comes in fragments: the cold sheets to her side, fuzzy and worn and smelling distinctly of tobacco and sun; her clothes, thrown haphazardly around every corner of the room in a way that never would have happened had she been by herself.

_Could give you another first, if you’re up for it._

Max is alone.

_Maximus,_

Max is alone in an empty room.

_Tell me to stop and I will._

Chloe is gone.

Without a word. Without a text or a call or any effort at all put toward letting Max know when she left. Or why.

So, if that realization leads her to remembering what Rachel said the other day – that Max might end up being _just another one of those girls_ ; if it leads her to sliding down her mattress; to pulling the covers over her head; to crying as hard and as quiet as she can, well, then, no one can really blame her.

Right?

Right.

Because it isn’t that she didn’t want what happened – she _did_ – but Chloe didn’t ask. Chloe _assumed_. Just like Chloe assumed Max was brave enough to answer when she breathed out the words _tell me to stop and I will,_ even though Max couldn’t have put together two syllables in that moment if she were the most eloquent woman in the world. Chloe didn’t ask, and Chloe didn’t stop, and all Max wanted was a second to breathe, but Chloe kept pushing forward, expecting Max to help her cope with the something that she refused to explain at all. The something that she tried to deny had happened like Max was only swimming through a late-night fever dream, and none of it was real, and they would be able to wake up the next morning and pretend she was never there.

Max is absolutely _sick_ of this.

She’s sick of being yanked around by the arm into new corners of this new life day after day only to have the answers to her questions and the details within the details denied to her outright like Max is just some harmless child in their eyes. A child who _obviously_ couldn’t ever know any better. As if Max isn’t _there_ for all of it, as if Max doesn’t actively witness most of these things happening every single day! She knows Chloe’s home life is awful! She knows Chloe and Rachel don’t have some fairy tale romance! She knows Arcadia is a run-down shell of its former self! She even knows Rachel has been avoiding someone named Frank! Obviously, she knows! It’s infuriating! And it’s terrifying!

And she doesn’t know what to do.

So, she cries.

She cries, because she feels slimy, and used, and she’s nervous, and she isn’t sure she wants to leave her bed for the next month. Because she wanted what happened, and she thought Chloe did too, but it turns out that maybe she _was_ just another one of those girls for Chloe. Maybe Chloe really _does_ hate her, and this was just some twisted form of revenge, or… _something_. Chloe always was the smart one. It wouldn’t be too much of a challenge for Chloe to pull one over on her.

And even if it isn’t that – even if Chloe was just drunk – she was still _drunk_. Max has been around Chloe when she’s sober enough to know that last night wasn’t it.

So, she cries.

~*~

Max doesn’t bother to shower. She cries, and she cries, and she cries, and she crawls her way out of bed when she has no more tears left to cry, slipping into yesterdays clothes and hoping to get as far away from Blackwell as she possibly can. Just for the day. Just long enough to organize her thoughts and her feelings into a shape that she can _do_ something with.

No more running away. No more running in without a plan. No more running circles in wait for a better opportunity. No more _running_. Max is going to plan. Max is going to figure out all of her feelings and make sure Chloe understands _exactly_ how she feels.

No matter what last night meant to Chloe, Max won’t let five years of running become six.

So, she grabs her camera bag, throws the strap roughly over her shoulder, and gives herself a quick once-over in the mirror. She looks like a wrinkled, stretched out mess. She’s wearing that pale green jacket Rachel let her borrow and then never asked her to return, and it… helps. Sort of.

It’s hard to tell in the moment.

And then someone knocks at her door.

“Maxine?” The someone calls. “I – dammit. _Max_.”

After shuffling over; after sluggishly pulling it open and realizing who it _is_ waiting on the other side, Max isn’t sure how long she stares.

Victoria is standing in front of her. Victoria _Chase._ For her. Outside of her room.

“…Victoria?” She chokes.

And Victoria sighs, like she expected this might be the response waiting for her. “Look, can I come in?”

“Uh.”

“I need to talk to you. About…” she says, and pauses. It feels more than a little odd to watch, almost out of place coming from someone like her. She even breaks eye contact, stiff and desperately focused on anything other than Max. Until she gives up with a quick little flick of the eyes, so small that it barely registers as anything more than an inability to find the words. So small that, were Max anyone else, she might not have caught it. But Victoria _always_ has words for her feelings when it comes to Max. “Look, I’m not good at this sort of thing. But I heard a little about what happened last night from Taylor, and, I haven’t been… the best. To you. I want to apologize and I’d rather not do it standing around in the hall, alright?”

Part of Max wants to say no. To tell Victoria to fuck right the hell off and let her brood in peace, but…

At the same time, she sounds genuine. Even if Max isn’t entirely positive what genuine sounds like from Victoria in a situation like this.

She steps aside either way.

And Victoria takes the room in for a moment, humming something that Max _wants_ to hear as satisfaction when her eyes pull away from the photo wall, but she’s still never heard this particular note in Victoria’s voice before. So, she isn’t sure. And neither of them speaks until Victoria is sitting on Max’s couch, tucked away in the corner like she wants to hide, and still posed with folded legs and folded arms like she doesn’t actually know how to be invisible.

“You might find this hard to believe, but I used to be even more of a bitch before I met Taylor.”

Whatever sort of look might be sitting on Max’s face when Victoria makes eye contact, it doesn’t tell her why Victoria chooses to respond with a fond sort of glare.

Or why that glare twitches itself closer to a smile in the fraction of a second before Victoria admits, “You remind me of her. I think it’s why I’m so unfair with you – she’s always been able to deal with anything I throw at her.”

Max isn’t quite sure how to answer, but Victoria also doesn’t look like she’s ready to listen.

“Not that I really saw it until the other day,” She goes on, waving her hand around like Chloe and Rachel arguing can really be explained as simply as that. One of those _things_ that just happened to happen the other day _._ “But you have had two of Arcadia Bay’s biggest problems on their best behavior ever since the start of the school year. I’d have to be an idiot to ignore that any longer than I already have.”

This time at least, Max has an answer. She lets out a bitter laugh in disbelief. A little through her nose and a lot through her mouth; too many bursts of air to count or control. It doesn’t wipe away her tension, but she knows to accept the reflex as important. Feeling comfortable around Victoria Chase isn’t nothing. Victoria Chase _complimenting_ her isn’t nothing.

“Like, I know that was your first time, so I’m sure it felt like some incredible life or death struggle, but it wasn’t. Those two idiots were – they were fighting over how to be better for _you_.”

And, well, Max hadn’t considered that.

The fact that her name came up at all had sort of drowned out any rational thought on the matter.

“Ugh, okay, I’m not _good_ at this. This isn’t – we’re way off topic. I’m… I’m sorry for the shit I put you through. That’s what I came here to tell you.”

“…Thank y – ”

“No, you know what?” Victoria blurts, rising back to her feet and clapping her hands together in a gesture that couldn’t read _enough of this_ any clearer if she tried. “Change of plans. I can’t do this here. How do you feel about lunch?”

~*~

Hours later, at the edge of a mattress and the center of the darkness in the middle of the night, Rachel brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. She lets her hand continue the motion to loop around and touch delicately at the skin of her throat. Once more. Like maybe the bruises might have disappeared into the quiet and the empty somewhere between searching for her shirt and sliding her way back inside. Wiped away by the cotton and polyester like they were never there at all.

Like today never happened.

But pain flares out as soon as the tips of her fingers make contact, stretching and racing from her jaw to her collarbones; a throbbing, pulsing reminder of too-rough hands touching her in too many places, and the unending scratch of a beard, and stale bourbon breath, and too many drugs making her feel too many things. Too many synonyms to words she doesn’t remember thinking, too many adverbs and adjectives and everything everything _everything_ ad nauseam until she was overflowing with words for the suffocating presence trying to claim every part of her. Trying to keep her from moving. From escaping. When all she wanted was to know _less._ To feel less; to think less; to show up and black out and _leave_.

To never know the details beyond the pain and the marks left behind on her skin in the aftermath.

If only she could be so lucky.

Frank might be a scumbag, he might be a piece of shit, but maybe that makes Rachel one too. Maybe that’s why the universe forces her to stay conscious through every horrible second, every single time.

Maybe that’s why she never had the courage to tell Chloe until after she was gone.

Chloe came back in the end, but maybe that was meant to be its own sort of punishment. Maybe Rachel is just the worst.

Things were easier before she knew.

Before she learned how awful she truly is.

Before she met Chloe.

Before Frank became even more violent, and before she moved out of her parents’ home to hide that fact, and before she moved into the Blackwell dorms in some poorly thought out plan to convince herself that nothing was wrong and nothing would happen. That maybe, if she executed a smaller, safer version of the dream she shared – shares. Still shares – with Chloe, things might get better. That, if she left, even just a mile or two; even just to some other corner of town, her life might improve.

Just… Before.

But then, life after – life with Chloe – has been _better_. And maybe that’s what really matters.

Things aren’t easier, and they aren’t simpler, and they don’t always have obvious answers, but things are _better_. Chloe fell ass-backwards into her life and offered a completely new way of living, and Chloe makes her want to be better, and Chloe _makes her_ better. Chloe, who, despite everything Rachel assumed beforehand, became more than an escape from her life. A way to forget; a way out for its own sake. She became more than the sort of thing that tries every day to strangle her back down to earth before she finds the strength to escape. She isn’t like Frank. Chloe is a future.

…One that she won’t have unless she fixes what she broke.

Maybe that’s why Chloe is still so attached to Max. Maybe Max makes _her_ feel this way, too.

Maybe, if they’ll have her, Rachel can do the same. Be a future for Chloe. For Max. For all of them.

Rachel swallows at the thought.

It only hurts a little.

She climbs slowly to her feet then, pulling on her jeans and checking her pockets for Chloe’s keys before she sneaks over to the front of the RV; toward the dog blocking her exit in its dream-driven rolling, and kicking, and flopping around. She kneels down to pet him behind the ears as he snores obliviously away.

_Chloe makes her better._

Maybe she _is_ an asshole. Maybe she _is_ the worst. But Chloe makes her better.

Three days. That was all it took. After meeting Chloe, it took only three days for her to show Rachel what _better_ really means. To pull Rachel away from… this. From everything. In three days, Chloe showed her what a future could be like with someone who actually cares about her at her side. Someone who smiles when she succeeds and helps her when she can’t. Someone who wants to see her thrive.

Chloe showed her a future with someone who _doesn’t_ demand her attention on whim and then toss her aside like nothing.

All Frank ever did was trick a fourteen-year-old girl who didn’t know any better into believing she was in love. All Frank ever did was hold the possibility of driving off into the sunset over her head like a carrot on a stick. He kept her leashed, and submissive, and promised her the world. Because he knew he would never have to fulfill that promise.

But it’s time for Rachel to break the collar that promise has become. It’s time for her take her first steps toward _better_. Because she _wants_ Chloe. And she wants Max. And the possibility that staying here and leaving things broken might mean she can’t have them in the ways that she wants is all the motivation she needs to push herself forward. She’s going to fix this.

She’s going to fix all of it.

The dog whines when she pushes herself back to her feet, like it knows exactly what her plans are.

And behind her, Frank stirs.

_Fuck._

“Whuzzat?” He grumbles, the air already turning tense and solid and impossible to breathe.

Fuck fuck _fuck._

“Nothing. Just need some fresh air,” Rachel tries, and oh, her voice sounds _awful_. Cracked and broken and barely holding itself together. Choking on itself as it pushes through every letter of every word.

But it works.

Frank rolls back over.

And Rachel leaves.

~*~

She goes back for Chloe’s truck.

And she gives everything under the hood another checkup, aided by the flashlight on her phone and a rushed, frantic Google search. It looks as good as it’s going to get without outside help. Rachel still doesn’t have tools. So, she climbs into the driver’s seat, cuts away the airbag, and prays and prays and _prays_ that it still has the ability to start. Because it can’t die. Not yet. Not until it gets them so far away from Arcadia that they’ll never be able to return.

Eventually, like a miracle, the engine roars to life.

Rachel nearly cries when she hears the sound.

She makes it out of the ditch.

And she drives.

She drives, and she drives, and she drives, until she’s _finally_ pulling up to the Price household.

It only hits her as she hops down into the driveway that she never thought through what might happen if Chloe isn’t here.

If she came all this way for nothing.

But in the very same instant, Chloe’s window slides open, and Chloe pops her head right through, elbows resting on the frame, and a cigarette glowing between her lips.

“What’s the matter? You miss me?” Chloe asks, loud enough for Rachel to hear and still quiet enough that they won’t wake the neighbors. Or her parents. A tone of voice that they’ve had to put through years of rigorous practice. She’s teasing, leaning her arm and her shoulder against the side of the windowsill until her head follows suit with a short little bump. She’s teasing. Just like she’s hiding her real question beneath the words. Making sure Rachel is safe without prodding at her dignity and asking outright.

Chloe is layers and layers and layers.

“Mmh,” Rachel hums, deliberately answering and not answering in the very same breath. Watching wearily as she steps closer like maybe this time was one fight too many and maybe this time Chloe won’t let her in. “You’re looking pretty rough.”

“And you look like shit,” Chloe replies, and Rachel chuckles. Her eyes sweep over to the truck as she leans into it, tying her hands together behind her back until her knuckles turn white with the strain because this _can’t_ be the time that they break beyond repair.

“Sweet talker,” Rachel smiles. And Chloe smiles back, a hand reaching up for her cigarette and stubbing it out into the ashtray that Rachel knows is just out of sight. They both stay quiet for a long moment, after that. Nothing but meaningful looks and meaningful silence and a complete stop to whatever this was. Until it starts again. Until Chloe picks the conversation back up like she was simply letting it simmer. Build to a more appropriate temperature.

“You know, usually when I’m upset, you have the good sense not to look for me.” Chloe jokes, even though they’re both well aware that this is because of what happened when Chloe went looking for _her_ barely twenty-four hours ago. And her smile doesn’t fade. Doesn’t twitch or disappear.

“That might be the first time you ever accused me of having good sense, Chlo.”

Chloe shrugs, her eyes drifting closed with the gesture. “Probably.”

“Hmm.” Rachel smiles loud, and speaks so quiet that the words almost feel like a whisper. “So then, I suppose I should use my good sense to point out that you’re not _really_ upset,”

But Chloe still hears. She still smirks and ducks her head out of the way like Rachel didn’t already catch her in the act. This time, when they fall into silence, Rachel makes sure that she’s the one to pull them both back out.

“Thought so. Found your truck, by the way,” she says, nodding just to her side.

“I can see that. You here for the usual? You know, _please Chlo, take me back and I’ll let you fingerblast me into next week?_ ” Chloe asks, her smile already fallen away for something completely empty, and Rachel doesn’t even have the time to feel hurt by that comment because Chloe sighs and leans forward, digging the heels of her palms into her eyes as soon as the words escape. “Sorry. I don’t mean that. I’m – ”

“I understand. I do.” Rachel interrupts, shaking her head because she _does_. Sometimes all either of them wants on nights like these is to lash out, and sometimes that means the only targets they have are themselves. Are each other. And Chloe stares, like she isn’t sure whether it’s safe to believe. Chloe stares, for so long that Rachel starts to wonder whether maybe she doesn’t want Rachel here after all.

But then she grins again, small and even _loving_ as she swings through the window and steps out onto the roof with a few casual steps. “C’mere, loser. I got you.”

Chloe helps her climb up, only pausing for a moment to tug Rachel close to her chest. To scowl at Granny Hazel when a light next door flicks itself on and she peeks through her curtains like Rachel’s arrival on the roof triggered an alarm on her internal clock. And, maybe Chloe catches Rachel staring, because she whispers low and entirely too self-satisfied, her lips brushing against Rachel’s ear. “She’s been in a mood all day. I was napping out here, earlier.”

Chloe smiles.

And Rachel smiles back.

This feels good. This feels safe. This feels _normal_ for the first time in weeks; Chloe’s arms, and Chloe’s home, and… Chloe.

She lets Chloe guide her carefully inside, their fingers laced together every step of the way.

She lets Chloe ghost her fingers over the marks on her neck. Lets them slide over and around the shape of them, and it still hurts, but this is Chloe. And she deserves to know.

“Frank?” She asks.

And Rachel nods, reaching up to grip at her wrist and ensure that she doesn’t move away. She wants Chloe’s hand to stay exactly where it is. To replace the old hurt with something new and something welcome until the memories are wiped from her system. A reset. A reboot. Until all that’s left is pain of her own creation. “My punishment for ignoring him,” Rachel answers, small and distant because she knows Chloe doesn’t need her to explain, and because she knows she will anyway. “When you and I went up to the cabin.”

Something flashes in Chloe’s eyes as she studies Rachel through the dark, and she continues rubbing her palm against Rachel’s neck. Rachel doesn’t move closer. She doesn’t lean into the touch.

But she does grip just a bit harder at Chloe’s wrist. She digs her nails in hard enough to bruise through the bruises already there.

_Touch me. Please._

And Chloe understands. She closes the distance for her. She guides Rachel into her arms, nuzzling into the top of her head in something that isn’t quite a kiss, but still manages to be far too intimate for Rachel to feel comfortable naming it anything else.

Almost lazily, Chloe whispers, “I’ll give the truck a once-over tomorrow morning. Drive you back to school… Until then, I could use a shower.”

“Mmh?” Rachel hums, pulling away to meet Chloe’s eyes.

“Yeah. Like, devil’s-piss hot. Think you could gimme a hand?”

Chloe truly is, Rachel thinks around the shape of a stifled giggle, the human embodiment of the sun.

Over the course of her life, she had never once seen so much warmth encompassing every single corner of someone’s personality, and then there was Chloe. Chloe, who loved her from their first night together; Chloe, who _loves_ her still, even after the hell that they’ve both lived. Chloe, who might just be one of the most beautiful woman Rachel has ever seen. Chloe, who has never thought to try loving someone halfway. Chloe, who is passionate, and gentle, and who smiles like a force of nature ready to burn her way into the heart of everyone she meets.

Rachel smiles lightly, letting her eyes drop closed as she lets herself be pulled through the dark.

~*~

She doesn’t realize the full extent of Chloe’s injuries until the bathroom door is closed behind them. Rachel is backing herself into the far corner, squeezing herself into the space between the door itself and the wall opposite Chloe, watching as she turns on the shower and as the steam builds almost immediately.

Chloe continues facing purposefully away, wincing lightly as she tugs off her tank top; hissing and biting through her pain when the fabric clears her shoulders, and Rachel has to force herself to swallow down a gasp when she sees the giant, blue-black mark on her side, running the height of her ribs and a few inches more. Chloe is _covered_ in bruises. Her arms, and her neck, and her chest and her back, a horrible tableau of reds and purples and greens and yellows blurring together until there’s hardly any skin left untouched.

Rachel barely realizes that she’s rushed forward, pressed flush against Chloe’s back and reaching out to touch the swell of her hips, until Chloe’s knuckles knock rhythmically against her forehead. She gasps, and looks, and finds Chloe peeking over her own shoulder, the most incredible sort of smirk playing at her lips.

“Hot water’ll run out eventually.” She says, threading her fingers into Rachel’s hair. Rolling her shoulders and leaning into the touch like absolutely nothing is wrong. “Get your ass outta those clothes, Amber.”

Rachel does.

The water is every bit as hot as Chloe promised, turning Rachel’s skin red and sensitive nearly the instant it makes contact. She bites her lip to deal with the feeling, but she stays put. Chloe isn’t the only one with memories to wash away.

Chloe leans slowly back, out of the water and against the tile of wall until she’s half standing, half sitting on a ledge that barely exists, grabbing at Rachel’s hands and tugging her along for the ride.

“Good?” She asks, brow drawn down and a hand sliding up toward Rachel’s neck like she hopes to find an answer written somewhere on her skin. Like _she_ isn’t the one painted head to toe in a rainbow of bruises.

It’s all Rachel can do to squeeze again at her wrists. To meet her eyes and push out a pleading, frustrated, “ _Chloe…_ ” in response.

 _Stop pretending you’re okay,_ _I’m here now._

“…Okay,” Chloe says, angling Rachel down for quite possibly the lightest kiss she’s ever been given. Rachel’s heart flutters at the contact. “Okay. Can you…?”

Tapping their foreheads lightly together, Rachel smiles. She refuses to move away. “Help?”

Chloe’s chest rises and falls in a sigh, her eyes drifting closed with the movement, and she nods.

Rachel kisses her again, every bit as light, barely touching, barely there. “Do you mind waiting for me?” She asks, turning away only when Chloe nods again; setting to work with soapy hands and the unyielding heat of water to try wiping the day from her mind.

She can feel Chloe watching. Can feel Chloe’s eyes scalding hot on her back, sweeping up and down the path set by her fingers. Between her knees and her collarbones. Her shoulders and her sides and… Then she remembers Frank. His handprint searing itself onto the skin of her throat. Her ribs. Her thighs.

And she stops.

Just long enough to pull herself back into her body.

Because heat isn’t the problem.

Not Chloe’s. Not ever.

And if Rachel needs to panic, Chloe will stop. Chloe will hold her. She _will._

But she isn’t here to panic. She’s here because too many things are in desperate need of repair.

This – this thing that they do – has always been how they get those problems out. How they start over fresh.

And, yes, the way that Chloe watches her might be a fire that threatens every single day to consume her. But the edges are soft, and her eyes are softer, and the idea of letting herself fall in – to _this_ fire, and _these_ flames – is something that doesn’t fill her with even the slightest hint of fear. Rachel wants this, and she always will, and she maybe always has, because _these_ flames would never hurt her like the ones she escaped in order to be here tonight. _These_ flames would never keep her from flying free; from soaring up and up and up into the sky to live among the stars and the moon and the sun and everything else that glows. Chloe would never hold her back. She would want to be there every step of the journey, lifting her higher and higher for nothing else but the opportunity to see Rachel shine brighter than either of them thought possible.

It’s somewhere in the middle of that thought; somewhere in the middle of cracking a smile that she knows Chloe can probably feel even with her back turned and her face completely out of view, that Rachel feels a weight finally begin to disappear. She feels it slide off between the soap and the suds; feels Chloe’s warmth rushing to take its place and wrap around her before it even has the chance to circle the drain.

So, she turns, slowly, and helps Chloe to stand.

“Up,” Rachel whispers.

She takes one of Chloe’s hands into both of her own, kissing hard at her knuckles before letting go.

A silent _thank you for caring._

A wordless _thank you for letting me in_ for a moment that they both know does not now and will never, under any circumstances, need one. No matter how much Rachel worries. As long as they have each other; as long as one of them has the strength to shoulder their troubles, that anxiety means nothing.

Chloe leans forward then, using her free hand to balance on Rachel’s shoulders for support.

Rachel cracks a little smile when it happens, and she works to run her fingers gently over the curve of Chloe’s back, and the path of her spine, and the countless rises and dips of her ribs. Chloe hisses in pain whenever Rachel presses too hard on a bruise, but she stays steady and unmoving. She lets Rachel work.

And when Rachel is nearly done; when all that remains to be touched is her stomach and her chest, Chloe drops her forehead against Rachel’s with an exhale well on its way to being a moan. Her eyes shut tight, and her breath slows heavier and heavier with every passing second, even as she so stubbornly fights to keep it steady.

“You good, Chlo?” Rachel wonders aloud.

Chloe nods, another unsteady half-gasp escaping when Rachel drags her knuckles along the ridge of her hips.

When Rachel runs her palms slowly up and down Chloe’s stomach.

She slides them carefully, tenderly over Chloe’s breasts, pausing only long enough to fully savor the resulting noise before she lets one continue its journey to the back of Chloe’s head; to urge her closer until their breaths are mixing together and her other is settling to rest just above Chloe’s heart.

Until the only thing left is Chloe’s skin and Chloe’s eyes and Chloe’s light.

When Rachel finally builds the courage to pull away a long moment later, she lets that hand fall down, the backs of her fingers brushing at the little tuft of hair between Chloe’s legs that she grooms more strictly than the dye job on her head. The touch lasts barely a second, but that barely there second is still enough to make Chloe whine – fully this time – and Rachel knows immediately that she could do more. She could take this further. She could fall to her knees and treat this as the gift that it is: Chloe giving permission to touch. Chloe welcoming Rachel back into her life.

But she doesn’t.

Because they _need_ to talk.

Because if she does, they won’t.

And, because – maybe more importantly – they’re almost out of hot water.

Chloe doesn’t argue when Rachel chooses to spin them around, switching their places to help her rinse off.

She doesn’t argue when Rachel carefully, tenderly dries them both off; when she scoops up all of their clothes and pulls Chloe carefully through the hall, back to her room, and sits her on the foot of her bed while she digs around for something clean for them both to wear.

She doesn’t argue when Rachel, already wearing one of Chloe’s old band tees and a pair of boxers, insists on dressing her herself, either. She stays quiet. And she watches, still nothing but unsteady breath and eyes still full of that incredible heat.

It’s when they’re together in bed that Chloe finally speaks up. When they’re lying together, newly cleaned and newly dressed, buried under whatever covers Chloe already had on the bed and the brand-new comforter that Rachel brought over and tucked into her closet a month ago because Chloe’s room is always _freezing_ during the winter. And, it might not be winter just yet, but all Rachel wants tonight is to feel warm with her, so one way or another, they’ll make sure it finds its use.

Chloe is on her back, breathing slowly as Rachel settles in against her side and wrangles one of Chloe’s arms around her shoulders, and she leans down to kiss the top of Rachel’s head.

“Go to sleep, Rach,” she yawns, like Rachel’s mind has been wide open the entire time, the details of her thoughts right there for anyone to see. Like the only thing in the world Chloe wants anymore is to soak in the smell of soft skin, and wet hair, and them. “We can talk in the morning; you’ve had a day.”

Rachel almost smiles, hearing the words. Worrying about Rachel’s wellbeing before her own – even though her body looks like it does – is so perfectly _Chloe_ that it almost feels like reading off a script. But in the most amazing, comforting way something could possibly be.

“M’not tired,” Rachel exhales. Because she isn’t. Not really. There are too many thoughts in her head. Too many things that she needs to organize if they’re really, genuinely going to talk about everything they’ve always so deliberately avoided. This was a first step, not the whole journey.

“…Need me to stay up?” Chloe asks after a pause.

And Rachel smiles. “Go to sleep, baby. We can talk in the morning.”

Chloe grunts in answer, even managing a mumbled “You’re not the boss of me,” but minutes later she’s already fast asleep and tugging Rachel closer because her body won’t give up the fight until they’re a chaotic mess of tangled legs and bone crushing hugs.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So? Stars?” Rachel asks, tilting her head just enough to let the question touch Chloe’s skin.
> 
> “Twice in a month? You spoil me, Miss Amber.”
> 
> “It’s the least I can do for my ever-loyal court jester.”

Over the past hour, Chloe has come to a particularly painful realization.

“Everything okay?”

She lets out a noncommittal grunt in responds, and peeks out from under the hood of her truck. Rachel is still giving sunbathing on the roof her very best attempt. Even with all the clouds.

 _It’s_ warm, _Chlo! Let me at least_ try _and enjoy it,_ she had said.

Chloe didn’t have it in her to fight back.

And besides, Rachel’s company while she works to fix up what she can is hardly unwelcome. Last night was the first time they ever bothered to pull back at the last second, and giving themselves time to _exist_ like this, with the mundanities of life and the occasional burst of small talk is nice. It’s a little bit like their dreams of the future showing up for a visit to remind them what’s waiting just around the corner: peace and quiet.

Peace and quiet with the blanket hogging, bathroom towel stealing, toothpaste uncapping gremlin on her roof. Only, instead of being stranded in the middle of the poor side of a poor town, their future might involve being stranded in the middle of an _adventure_ in some _sunny_ corner of some _sunnier_ city. Chloe might be drinking locally brewed beers while Rachel scrolls through an inbox full of job offers and eats… shit, avocado rolls. That’s probably how things work in California. Or New York. Anywhere but here. Overpriced fancy meats cooked in fancier ways with fancier names like _sous vide._

Fancy meats and avocado rolls.

“Yeah,” Chloe finally answers – with words, this time – swiping the towel off her shoulder to at least make an _attempt_ at cleaning up her hands. She takes a few short steps off to the side. Enough for a better view of Rachel. “Just… Thinking.”

Rachel doesn’t raise her head or move from her spot. She hums, folds her right leg over her left, and then her left over her right.

 _I’m not fishing,_ the move says, _tell me what it is._

“…I made a mistake,” Chloe admits as simply as she can. She ducks her head, scratching at the back of her neck. This time at least, Rachel opens her eyes. “With Max.”

“What happened?”

The realization – the one that has been plaguing Chloe’s work on her truck – is this: she always assumed that if she were to ever fuck up this massively, she might have something clever to say in explanation. Something pithy, or ironic, or at the very least _memorable._ Go down in style like she always has, you know?

The reality is that she ends up making a noise somewhere between a squeak and a too-tense groan, and she mumbles, “I was drunk.”

“Drunk.”

“Drunk,” Chloe repeats.

Rachel is sitting on the edge of the roof now, legs dangling casually off the side. She tilts her head just so and asks the follow-up Chloe knew was coming and still hoped might not. “How bad?”

A small ghost of a laugh and a gesture to the truck answers the question, but Chloe still pushes herself to say the words. “Obviously too bad to drive. Probably convinced myself I was stumbling around because of…” She exhales again and scratches at her neck. “The sort of drunk where I could hear myself talking, and feel myself moving, but it felt like watching a rerun of an old show. Just kinda floating behind my own body all night.”

Rachel, to her credit, doesn’t immediately assume the worst. Chloe is thankful for that.

“What happened, Chlo?”

She’s a little less thankful that it means she’ll have to come right out and explain herself. To say the words. And that feeling manifests in the way she pulls her eyes away. The way she looks around the driveway in search of _something_ to focus on while her jaw works open and closed like it might be able to magic the correct words into existence through sheer force of will.

“Uh,” she answers, obviously more than a few beats too late to convince Rachel that she might be okay. She only realizes when Rachel is standing in front of her. When Rachel’s hands gently take hold of her own, and, _Christ_ , when did her own breath get so shaky? “I fucked her.”

_Just like you both said I would._

Rachel doesn’t flinch, but her grip does tighten. “Oh.”

“…And then I left.”

_People like us don’t change, right?_

“ _Oh._ ”

This time, Rachel drops Chloe’s hands.

“I… Wanted to be here for…”Chloe says, pointing a hand slowly toward the roof, and slower toward Rachel’s throat.

She doesn’t know how long Rachel stays quiet after that.

A second. Maybe two. Three.

And then Rachel reaches up. She cradles Chloe’s face in her hands.

~*~

Rachel thinks she might be able to count the number of times she’s been rendered speechless on one hand.

Max Caulfield might just be the only person in the world to rack up two instances. Not tiny stretches of silence either; not deliberate pauses meant to encourage someone else into finishing their thoughts, or moments spent in her own head putting together words like puzzle pieces, but actual, real, genuine speechlessness.

The first time was admittedly a much happier moment than this. The flash of a camera, and Max’s hands and Max’s eyes and Max’s lips…

“A – are,” Max mumbles suddenly, turning from her door to look vaguely toward Rachel’s shoes. “Are you still coming in?”

“Oh. Right,” Rachel answers, reaching out to brush her fingers down Max’s arm. Right. She ran into Max and, oddly enough, Victoria. And Max wanted to talk. And the whole thing sort of swept her off her feet until they managed to get to here.

Max nods at the gesture and awkwardly barrels forward into her room, leaving the door wide open and Rachel alone, standing in the hall with no real choice but to watch as Max starts pacing around.

She steps inside, gently pushes the door closed, and leans back into it, trying to give Max as much space as she possibly can. “She wasn’t giving you too much trouble, was she?” Rachel asks softly enough not to startle, both arms pressed flat to the wood.

Max doesn’t startle, but the sound of Rachel’s voice still stops her in her tracks. And, slowly, she turns to meet Rachel’s eyes wearing nothing but confusion in her own.

It hurts.

To see Max so far inside of her own head that she seems more like the girl from months ago than the one she’s put so much work toward trying to become. But Rachel doesn’t let it show. She tilts her head and smiles a little lopsided smile. “Victoria.”

“Oh,” Max blushes, her cheeks flooding with pink in the blink of an eye before she returns to pacing. “No. I’ve been texting with Taylor a lot lately. And we – Victoria and me, I mean – we started patching some things up yesterday, and… Okay, I still don’t _like_ her, but… did you know she always thought we might’ve been friends if we didn’t get off to such a bad start?”

And, well, maybe Rachel misjudged that look in her eyes.

Any Max brave enough to try fixing _that_ is hardly still the girl Rachel thought she might have seen. Even more, it happened without Rachel ever realizing. It happened after Rachel left her alone. So, sure, maybe they would’ve been friends. Maybe Rachel was never all that good for Max in the first place, and maybe Max would be a better person without her. Without the hatred-by-default hanging over her head for something as small as association with small town villains Rachel Amber and Chloe Price.

“I think Victoria was just worried about me after… you know. Or – no, I mean, worried I might somehow blame her for that. She said she wanted to make sure I knew what happened wasn’t my fault.” Max stops for a short moment, ducking her head and peeking up through her bangs for just long enough to make eye contact before she goes back to walking circles around the room.

Rachel lets her.

But Max stops again. Much more sudden, and this time bringing a short flash of recognition to her face along with the move. “Sorry, I… What did you want to talk about?”

For a beat, Rachel really does try to search for a way to ease into the subject. To make it into something Max might be able to swallow down a bit easier in her current state. After another, she decides against it. She decides to get the whole thing over with. Rip it off like a band-aid and decide what to do from there.

She takes a deep breath and pushes herself forward, away from the door, and tries to turn her voice as calm and soothing as she can. But without the door to support her, a vague anxiety starts thrumming through her veins. Like the bass on a speaker turned up too high. If Max has been an exercise in communicating through words rather than touch, that makes this moment the test. “Chloe mentioned you were there for her the other night. She said you helped her.”

Rachel takes a single step forward, but the moment she tries, Max’s face drops, and she gathers her hands up to her chest.

“I…” Rachel swallows, taking another small step forward. No use shying away now. “She also told me a little about how she left things – ”

“I don’t feel good about it if you’re just here to yell at me,” Is all Max says, but the way she _moves_ almost breaks Rachel to pieces. She overpowers Rachel’s presence with a quick half step toward the windows at her back, flinching and deflating and recoiling in one stilted, pained motion. It shouldn’t have the effect it does, but it does. Max steals the air straight out of Rachel’s lungs. “You are, right? You want to make me feel worse about caring about Chloe.”

“Max, I would _never_ – ” Rachel tries before she even knows how to finish the thought, but Max interrupts her again.

“ _Please_ let me finish, Rachel. I… Victoria said I need to make sure you let me say what I need to say or neither of you will ever get it, and… and I think I agree. I need you to listen.”

For the third time in less than a year; for the second time in less than a _day,_ Max Caulfield renders Rachel speechless.

“I love you so much. You _and_ Chloe. _So_ much,” Max goes on, pausing only to take a slow, steadying breath. “And – and I was just trying to be a good friend when Chloe showed up coughing up blood all over my feet and too drunk to stand up straight, and…” She pauses again for another breath, this time screwing her eyes shut and pressing a palm flat to her chest in an all too familiar attempt at keeping a panic attack at bay. “Have you ever had to deal with that smell before? I took care of Chloe when she got scrapes and things as a kid but that much blood is… It’s nauseating and, like, iron, and… _gross_ all sliming their way into your lungs, and I’m amazed I didn’t pass out as soon as I saw her. I’ve _never_ seen Chloe like that before, and it was _terrifying,_ and – like, and I did the best I could, and…”

Something in Max must register that breathing isn’t enough, because she starts pacing again.

Rachel takes another step.

“I didn’t think she would… and she didn’t _listen._ And I don’t – I can’t _do_ this! I can’t just stay quiet and be okay with the way you both treat me! You’re both _amazing_ when you want to be and I never thought I would be lucky enough to have friends like you, because you’re _so nice_ and you’ve helped me grow _so much_ but I can’t… It’s so hard to be okay with that when the other side of it is me getting tossed around like a frickin’ ragdoll whenever one of you gets an idea in your head. That’s not my life! And I can’t – I can’t just _make_ it my life because you want it to be! And I just want to know what any of this _is_ , and… and – ”

“Max,” Rachel reaches forward to grab Max by the shoulders, because that _halfway to a panic attack_ has turned into Max tripping and falling off the ledge, and this isn’t what Rachel wanted at all. “Max, honey, please breathe for me.”

She doesn’t. Not at first. But she does nod as confidently as she can. The gesture is stiff and tense, and Max clearly lost whatever was left of her train of thought right along with the air in her lungs, but she nods. She collapses into Rachel’s chest, and she lets Rachel hold her close.

Rachel should have known better.

Because Max has spent her whole life in the background, hiding where no one can see and looking for the answers to every question she’s ever had before anyone knows she’s bothered to ask. So, is it really any surprise then, that the way Chloe and Rachel live _their_ lives – through crowds and noise and an unending series of _maybes_ and _somethings_ and no concrete need to commit to anything but each other – might bring her to this point?

Rachel should have looked closer. She should have gone slower.

She should have known better.

And… Christ, _Chloe_ should have known better. She told Chloe to stop pretending for a reason.

Today’s mistake – today’s confrontation – is Rachel’s. She will own that for the rest of her life.

But _that_? You can’t just let all of those emotions and _maybes_ and _somethings_ overflow onto someone like Max. Max isn’t _her_. She isn’t Rachel. Max might have had ideas, but she doesn’t _know_ what Chloe goes through. Not really. It’s no wonder she’s terrified. There’s a reason Rachel has never once turned Chloe down after David goes through one of his episodes, and it’s because _she_ is the only one who knows how to handle her like that. _She_ is the only one who can match Chloe blow for blow when all she wants is to _hurt_ until she doesn’t remember what came before.

But.

Then.

It’s her fault Chloe didn’t see that as an option in the first place.

“- Not your fault.”

Rachel blinks. “Max?”

“You get really serious when you’re feeling guilty. You do that a lot, actually. What – what Chloe did is Chloe’s fault. Not yours,” she says, nuzzling herself just a bit further into Rachel’s throat. “…Still mad at you though.”

And it’s barely there; barely recognizable, but Rachel feels Max smile. So, Rachel smiles back.

“Are you now?” She asks, ghosting a thumb over Max’s cheek before she hugs her again and sends them both tumbling back onto Max’s bed.

Max giggles breathlessly when they land.

And Rachel tugs her just a little closer, humming at the weight of Max’s body on top of her. “Is this okay?”

Max nods.

“I’m sorry. For everything.”

Max shakes her head.

“You are just… too good for us. You know that?” Rachel murmurs. Because she is. She really is. Max is tiny, cute as a button, and more freckle than person, and she’s still – _still_ – one of the few people capable of getting under Rachel’s skin like this. “You are. And I’m gonna fix this for you.”

Max tilts her head in answer, and her nose brushes against the hollow of Rachel’s neck.

“Whatever we’ve got going here, Max? I’m not ready to give it up. And I know… Even with what happened, Chloe still loves you in that stupid, stubborn, bullheaded way of hers.” She pulls Max a little closer. She holds Max a little tighter. “I do too. And I’m going to talk to her, and fucking rip her a new asshole,” Rachel sighs, and Max sniffs, smiling another little smile. “And I’m going to figure this all out.”

That smile of Max’s settles into a laugh somewhere along the way. “I’m still mad at you both,” She mumbles.

“I know you are, baby. You get to be angry as long as you want,” Rachel says. Max nods, still smiling. “But I’m still putting in a request that you stop when we get this all figured out, okay?”

~*~

**Chlo, you still where I left you?**

Rachel tosses her phone onto her bed without waiting for an answer and occupies herself with looking for something new to wear. Max is calmed down. Max is _anxious_ – and Rachel doesn’t blame her for one second – but Max is calm. Plans with her friends, she said. Kate, and Brooke, and the rest.

Another change made in Rachel’s absence.

**beach**

**everything ok**

Rachel settles on the shirt she wore last night and a pair of shorts every bit as out of place for the season as today’s warm weather. She doesn’t bother with anything else. No makeup, no necklace, no earrings, no bracelet, no nothing. This is just Chloe. Tonight is just them. Herself is the only thing she needs to bring.

**Be there soon.**

~*~

The drive leaves Rachel, despite all of her best efforts to prevent it, stuck in her head.

Max has always been important to Chloe. That’s a fact.

But Rachel isn’t nearly as sure when it was that Max became so important to _her_.

For the longest time, it was just Rachel and Chloe. Rachel and Chloe and the monsters in the dark and the ghosts of the past.

And then Max blows in from Seattle, and all of a sudden Chloe’s got a friend. All of a sudden one of Chloe’s ghosts is alive again. And, it’s not that Chloe doesn’t have friends; Chloe’s always had friends. But – and Rachel has understood this fact more clearly than Chloe ever has – Max isn’t Chloe’s friend. Not like Chloe’s other friends. Max blows into town, and into Chloe’s life, and suddenly she’s everywhere. Part of all of their lives. And she’s making changes no one even noticed happening until after they’d already been made. Changes she probably didn’t even realize she was making.

Chloe and Rachel got _better_ , and so did so many other things, and people Rachel has never spoken more than a handful of sentences to were getting wrapped up in their shit like Max is a fucking hurricane who always will and always has thrown everything into disarray and unearthed problems that people took too much care to bury by simply _existing._

And then Rachel found herself in the junkyard with Max.

Another modelling session.

Another opportunity to tease until Max turned red and quiet and completely unable to hold in her smiles.

Only, it was different.

Gentle fingers on her face and shallow breaths on her lips and Max wasn’t aware of herself at all, but if she had just leaned another half inch forward…

Max managed to throw the last, stubborn, piece of Arcadia Bay off balance that day. And Rachel finally caught her first glimpse of the reasons behind Chloe’s feelings. Her first glimpse into the details propping up the fact that Max has never been _just_ Chloe’s friend.

And then, today. Today happened, and the rest of it clicked into place, and Rachel realized that maybe, just maybe, her feet got swept off the ground much earlier than she thought. Maybe, actually, Rachel was all caught up in Max months before she understood what _Max_ really was.

And maybe that’s why letting Chloe sit on this mistake like it never happened; why letting Chloe excise Max from her life like she was never actually there, sits so unsteady in the space beneath her heart.

Because Max was never just Rachel’s friend, either.

~*~

“Hey,” Rachel grunts, yanking Chloe’s legs down for a clear line of sight. Chloe is – _was_ – lying in the bed of her truck, staring out at the stars with her arms folded behind her head. Now though, she’s sitting up perfectly straight, spine so stiff it looks like she might topple over at any moment.

“…She okay?” Chloe asks.

Rachel doesn’t answer.

She puts on the flirtiest mask she can manage, pulls herself up, and crawls closer and closer and closer until she’s using a single finger to push Chloe back down. Until she’s straddling Chloe’s waist with her palms pressed flat to the tensed-up muscle of her stomach for support.

Chloe gulps. Rachel hears it happen.

“Rach?”

And she leans close. Very close. So close that when her hair finally spills down over her shoulders, it blocks everything else from view but them.

So close that, when she winds up for a punch, Chloe has no way of seeing. It breaks the silence with a _crack_ straight out of some awful Saturday morning cartoon. She’s hitting Chloe’s shoulder over and over, as hard as she can until Chloe is yelling variations of “Ow ow _ow, fuck!_ ” and mustering up the willpower to roll Rachel off to the side.

“You are going to _fix this,_ Chloe,” Rachel snaps, managing to land one last punch before Chloe slides away. But it doesn’t matter. Rachel is already done. With the fighting. With all of it. Her _bones_ ache in a way they haven’t since the first and worst mistake she ever made with Chloe. When she woke up in that RV hours after the fact, staring at her shaking hands and thinking that this was how people hit rock bottom. Throwing away their only source of comfort in the world over denial and half-thought-out assumptions. She won’t let Chloe and Max fall down there, too. “Get down on your fucking knees and grovel until that girl decides she’s ready to forgive you.”

Chloe pouts a little half-pout and turns to hide her face, but she still nods.

And when she looks back, finally meeting Rachel’s eyes, her expression softens in that way that seems so rare these days; that way that reminds Rachel so much of their first days together. Back when their biggest problems and their biggest worries were mundane nothings like _where should we spend the weekend_ and _how do we fuck without getting caught_. Back when Chloe’s smiles were innocent and childish and their boundaries were still boundaries and they both knew absolutely nothing of the trauma hidden behind their backs like sparks just waiting to catch.

“Tell me you’re going to fix this, Chloe,” Rachel says lowly, all the heat backing her anger long evaporated because she could never stay mad at that face. She reaches over to drag her thumb along the line of Chloe’s jaw until something flashes in Chloe’s eyes, and suddenly they’re both leaning forward in search for more contact.

“I will.”

“…Good. But…”

“But?”

“ _But_. Tonight, I…” Rachel starts, cutting herself off with a choke when Chloe finally manages the right angle to press the corner of her lips to the pads of Rachel’s fingers. They’re both laying half on their backs and half on their sides, all elbows and knees, and it’s all ridiculously uncomfortable, but neither wants to be the first to move.

“Tonight’s for us?” Chloe offers.

“Yeah,” Rachel says, the weight of Chloe’s gaze slowly filling her chest. It’s different from usual; not dry flames eating through all the air in her lungs like those looks always do. Instead, it’s heavy and liquid and every time she breathes in it pulses in a dull burn. Corrosive like acid. It feels like being right up against the thing they’ve been running from for years. “Tonight is for us.”

They pull each other closer in the following silence, seeking out something more comfortable than joints digging into ice cold metal until eventually they end up on their backs, Rachel tucked tight into Chloe’s arm and her cheek resting on Chloe’s chest.

One of Rachel’s hands starts running trails over the waistband of Chloe’s jeans before she realizes it’s moved. There’s no fire in it; there couldn’t be now. Not tonight. But that warmth is still there. And that matters more than anything else in the moment. There’s no crushing intensity or pressure building to burst, but Chloe is warm, and Rachel is welcome.

She focuses on that.

And, maybe because of her focus, Chloe breaks the calm first.

“You know that thing you and Dana always do? The _you’re so good_ thing?” She waits for Rachel to nod before continuing. “First time we broke up was the first time I heard it from her. You didn’t pick up the habit until after.”

“Chloe?”

Chloe swallows, and Rachel can feel the muscles strain to work where her cheek rests against Chloe’s side. Chloe flexes her fingers against Rachel’s shoulder, breathing deep. “And only ever when we fuck. I always imagined it was your way of getting back at me. You know. Hitting me with the reminder that you _know_ when you’ve already got me a mile and a half down the road to coming my tits off.”

“…What would I know?”

Another pause.

_Oh._

Another groan.

_Of course._

“…Did you?”

“Fuck her? No. No, I didn’t make that particular mistake until Max,” Chloe admits, a distinct edge to her voice like she’s insulted Rachel would even think to ask. Enough of an edge to convince Rachel to pick herself up until she’s staring down at Chloe. Until they’re locked in eye contact. “Really, Rach. Like, not for lack of trying. It just never worked out. Timing was always wrong. Feelings were always wrong. _Something_ was always wrong. Usually one of us was worried about ruining things.”

“You wouldn’t have ruined anything,” Rachel offers, because out of every choice Chloe could have made, that one more than any other would never have ruined a single thing.

But maybe Rachel gets it.

 _Coulda, woulda, shoulda_ is how they ended up here in the first place.

“I did, though. I do. It’s kinda my thing,” Chloe lets out a bitter laugh, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Rachel’s ear before she gets the chance herself. _Just look at all those other girls,_ goes unspoken, but it hangs in the air between them regardless. “But that’s not – it’s not the point.”

“Then, what?”

“Fuck. I don’t know. Maybe I just wanted to get that off my chest. You deserved to know years ago,” Chloe shrugs, and her eyes dart momentarily away. “The rest? I don’t care. It’s all just excuses. We’ve both got a list of ‘em a mile long and a mile high, and none of it fuckin’ matters. And that’s that. Getting into shouting matches with you always hurts, but like… C’mon. I’m not going anywhere. Not as long as you can still tolerate having me around.”

“Chloe… I – ”

“I mean it. I’ve got a shitty stepfuck, and you’ve got… Frank, and sometimes we take that out on each other. But like I said: I’m in this for the long haul.”

Rachel takes a slow breath, not sure how to respond.

Her mouth decides for her. “I’ll have to go back to him, you know.”

“I know. I do.”

“Whenever he wants. Until we’re gone. He’ll never just _let me go_ unless he can’t fucking find us anymore.”

“Hey,” Chloe says, leaning up suddenly to press her face to Rachel’s cheek. Reaching up to card a hand into Rachel’s hair. “I’m here. I’m right here.” Her voice is soft, low and husky like it always is when Rachel is panicking.

Rachel is maybe panicking.

She had a response of her own prepared and ready to go.

Something about how she doesn’t care either.

But here they are. Rachel is panicking and Chloe is helping and maybe, actually, Chloe already knows what Rachel wanted to say.

“So,” Rachel exhales softly, slowly regaining her sense of calm. Maybe there was never anything they needed to discuss after all. “That’s that?”

“That’s that. Like, unless you want to go through a list of every shitty thing I’ve ever done to you. And… _god_ have you earned the right to yell at me for all of it,” Chloe says, but Rachel shakes her head. They stare at each other for a long moment, another unspoken conversation happening in thoughts and in hands and in eyes. “…Okay then. You change your mind; I’ll take whatever you need to throw at me. Whenever you need,” Chloe swallows, tense and slow. “But the rest? I don’t need you to try and _fix_ any of this, Rach. There’s nothing for you to apologize for. Nothing’s broken but us, and we fit together just fine.”

On the one hand, Rachel knows exactly how true that is.

On the other…

Rachel snorts, and she whispers affectionately, “ _Nothing’s broken but us_ – You’re such a sap sometimes, you know that?”

“Water’s wet, sky’s up, and I’m with you till the end.” Chloe says through a laugh when Rachel nudges her in the side.

“ _Cheesy._ ”

“Glass is only fragile until it’s broken – ”

“Oh my god, not this one. Shut up.”

“– And baby, you’re as sharp as a million shards.”

“And you’re a _nerd_.”

“I’m strong, actually.”

“Uh huh,” Rachel agrees, grinning from ear to ear. She leans down for a kiss. Nothing deep; nothing special; a quick little brush of lips.

When Rachel pulls away, she sees Chloe smiling that big, dumb smile of hers.

And she sees Chloe’s newest groan wipe that smile away.

Rachel is back to straddling Chloe’s lap before it gets the chance to take away anything else. There’s probably a joke in there somewhere about how quickly it always calms Chloe down to have Rachel on top of her. But in the moment, all that really matters is that her hands slide up Rachel’s thighs to grip at her hips as if drawn by some invisible, magnetic force. In the moment, all that really matters is that it works.

Finally opening her eyes, Chloe whispers. “I’m scared.”

“About?”

“Max.”

“Oh,” Rachel breathes. She strokes her hands up and back down Chloe’s stomach. “About… Making up for what you did?”

“No. God no. I’ll do whatever I need to do to apologize,” she says, flexing her grip on Rachel’s skin. “I’m scared she might not want to hear it.”

In place of an answer, Rachel lets her hands continue their journey over Chloe’s shirt. Ribs to hips and back again. Slow, steady brushes of her palms. Up and down.

Up and down.

“I think I love her, Rach,” Chloe exhales, eyes screwed shut in frustration.

Rachel hums.

Because she always knew. She’s fairly confident anyone with a working set of eyes and ears would be able to put that detail together. Chloe might’ve spent years pretending and convincing herself that what she felt was hate, but Rachel knew.

She always knew.

And so, Rachel tilts her head, brushes another stubborn strand of hair from her face, and smiles.

~*~

Whatever Chloe expected out of tonight; this isn’t it.

She expected Rachel would want to talk. What she didn’t expect – what she maybe should have expected – was that Rachel would roll over like nothing even despite working up all of that courage. That she would agree with Chloe’s feelings.

She expected that Rachel might want to, you know, _vent_.

Instead, they did what they always do. Only it was different. They did what they always do, only this time it meant something. They did what they always do, and they talked about Max, and… now they’re here: Now Chloe is back to lying in her truck, all alone.

Well. Not _all_ alone.

Because Rachel is only a few steps away, digging through the trunk of her car and lugging out a good four or five blankets. The ones she keeps stashed specifically for nights like these. Nights that start a little differently and end mostly the same: falling asleep to the sound of the waves and the glow of the stars and the steady beat of Rachel’s heart as it bangs up against her chest.

The sound of Rachel groaning as she jerks away and slams the trunk closed twitches a little smirk to life on the corner of Chloe’s mouth.

It’s the sort of comically drawn out, overacted wheeze that Rachel only breaks out when she wants to be a bother. Had Chloe actually been watching, Rachel might even have thrown in a trip and a stumble for good measure. _Really_ dive into the act. _Really_ drive home the meaningless, weightless guilt before she sweeps Chloe off her feet.

Chloe’s smirk spreads just a bit further.

And then a pile of something soft lands directly on her face. And her arms. And the rest of her.

“Thanks for the help,” Rachel sighs, all faux-exhaustion and played up relief.

Chloe chuckles, her answer just the right side of too muffled to make out. “I thought you said it was _warm_.”

A few seconds later and they’ve got a makeshift bed set up. Just enough to negate the feeling of laying around on ice cold metal.

“That was this morning!” Rachel says, waving the implication away like nothing as she wriggles up to Chloe’s side, both hands tucked against her chest. “It’s cold now. Keep up!”

And Chloe laughs. She lets the nothing of night take over the moment.

“Sorry,” Rachel says a long while later, safely tucked back into the crook of Chloe’s arm. “I know I’m the one who wanted to talk, but…”

Turning and pressing a kiss to the top of Rachel’s head, Chloe laughs again. “Like I’d ever turn down another night with you. Besides, Like I said, I’m here whenever you decide you need to yell.”

But Rachel gives a halfhearted shrug, shuffling the slightest bit closer and burying her face in the collar of Chloe’s shirt. “You did. It’s nothing though, I’m okay,” she says. _Still worried about Max,_ she means. Turns out Chloe isn’t the only one nursing a crush tonight. “Just… I don’t know. The stars. I missed this.”

Chloe grins, wide and proud. “Yeah, well I missed _you._ ”

Rachel’s cheeks warm against her chest.

One of Rachel’s hands raises itself into the air, hangs for a moment, and slaps down onto a patch of bruise-free skin on Chloe’s chest just hard enough to send them both into a new fit of loud, satisfied laughter.

“So? Stars?” Rachel asks, tilting her head just enough to let the question touch Chloe’s skin.

“Twice in a month? You spoil me, Miss Amber.”

“It’s the least I can do for my ever-loyal court jester.”

Chloe pulls her just a bit closer, then, burying a smile and a laugh in the roots of Rachel’s hair until she hears the sound echoing through Rachel’s lips a short few seconds later.

“Alright,” Chloe sighs, patting at Rachel’s shoulder. She lazily traces out a shape in the air. “Here we go. I don’t remember what we called this one, but it’s about a woman the gods struck down for her hubris,” she hears Rachel echo _hubris_ with a smile like she finds the word out of place on Chloe’s tongue. “But she didn’t die no matter what they tried. She was just too hot.”

“Damn straight.”

“Oh? Is the lovely Rachel Amber claiming that she’s also too hot to be murdered by the gods?”

“Hell yeah I am, Chlo,” she says, powering her way straight through Chloe’s laughter. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

By way of answer, Chloe nuzzles her cheek to the top of Rachel’s head.

Rachel hums, deep in thought. “Oh! Found another one” She says, pointing somewhere toward the ocean. “Cat.”

“…Cat?”

“Just a cat. Playing with space toys.”

“Scratching up space furniture.”

“Knocking over expensive space glassware,” Rachel adds with a confident nod.

And, for a minute; for an hour; for long enough that they both settle down and pull themselves away from whatever heights they were standing on earlier, they keep up the routine. Watching the stars. Enjoying the night. Bouncing the worst quips and one-liners they have off of each other.

Until eventually, Rachel taps on Chloe’s chest and pulls her gaze back down to earth.

Until eventually, they realize they’re too tangled together to ignore.

Until, eventually, Rachel’s eyes are locked onto Chloe’s, and Chloe’s are locked onto hers, and suddenly someone’s hand is on someone’s neck and they’re kissing like maybe things are finally looking okay. Slow, and soft, and open mouths, and eager tongues, and little smirks fading as fast as a hot breath meeting the cool night air.

Chloe lets one hand slide down the trail of Rachel’s spine.

Rachel shoves herself away. Not hard. Not fast. Just enough.

For a moment, it leaves Chloe wondering if the kiss was a mistake. If it all ended too fast, or if it didn’t last long enough, or if she shouldn’t have tried at all. But Rachel doesn’t flinch when she pushes herself up to her elbows, following in her path. She doesn’t pull away when Chloe’s fingers thread back into her hair, or when Chloe presses her lips to her cheek, thumbing at her chin with the ghost of a smile slowly creeping to life.

“You’re amazing, Rach,” Chloe says after a long moment. When Rachel is calmed, and they’re both lowering themselves back down. Rachel arches a brow as she settles into position, her arms folded across Chloe’s chest like a pillow. “I don’t say that enough.”

It’s Rachel’s reaction that convinces Chloe the kiss wasn’t wrong.

She can see the amusement bubbling up in Rachel’s chest just as clearly as she sees Rachel swallow down a smile to avoid giving Chloe the satisfaction. Just as clearly as she sees the emotion reach her eyes anyway. Because even after all this time, Rachel isn’t quite capable of burying down her joy when Chloe gets this way.

As if on cue, Rachel leans down to kiss her like she was thinking the very same things. She’s shoving her way into Chloe’s space; climbing into her lap like the only thing in the world she still wants is exactly what Chloe has been looking for.

And then she pulls away again.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have – ”

Chloe surges forward the moment she feels their separation, pushing ahead until Rachel is thrown off balance and they’re toppling over and rolling after each other in the tangle of sheets and limbs and Chloe’s hands are under Rachel’s shirt, and Rachel’s legs are locked around Chloe’s waist, and someone’s blood is in someone else’s mouth.

They haven’t actually talked.

They haven’t actually fixed this.

But most of the ways they communicate these days involve touch and taste and personal space disappeared so far away that the only trace left is two bodies practically fused into one.

So, maybe, it can be the way this problem finds a solution. Chloe puts every shred of emotion her body can hold into it. The need to explain exactly how important Rachel is to her. Exactly how much Rachel helps. How much _this_ helps. Because she knows Rachel is worried that something might break. Because they’re both a few steps past breaking, and if one of them falls apart again, they’ll take the other down with them.

She knows Rachel must be thinking something along those lines.

But it isn’t true. Not this time.

Chloe pulls herself closer, trying to explain without speaking that she _needs_ her, and she _needs_ to show her how important this is. How helpful this is. How it rebuilds them up from nothing, every single time, and whether or not they break somewhere down the line has nothing to do with this. With the here and the now.

She needs Rachel to know. She needs Rachel to understand.

Maybe that makes her an idiot; trying to explain something like that without ever trying to talk. But she would rather speak in ways she understands than try to learn an entire language in one night.

And right now, the way Rachel is reacting to every last touch makes it incredibly easy to continue being an idiot.

At least, until she stops.

Until she pushes gently at Chloe’s shoulders.

Chloe listens.

What she does not do is wait to hear what Rachel has to say.

“Rachel Dawn Amber,” she whispers, smiling a wolfish smile as she redirects her lips toward the hollow of Rachel’s throat. “Are you trying to hold back right now?”

“Chloe, this is a bad idea.”

Chloe doesn’t stop. She continues ghosting her lips over Rachel’s neck, breathing steadily in and out as Rachel squirms.

“It won’t break anything. Promise,” she exhales against Rachel’s clavicle, and Rachel practically _whimpers_. “This is just you and me.” She pulls away this time. Far enough for Rachel to breathe. Far enough that they can look into each other’s eyes.

“Chloe…”

“Do you know how long it’s been since we were both sober like this?” Chloe asks, pausing for a short second to flip up the hem of Rachel’s shirt and clarify, “Like… _this_ , I mean. Nothing’s gonna break.”

Rachel doesn’t answer.

“Let me show you.”

Rachel still doesn’t answer.

This time, Chloe stays where she is. “You can still take me up on that offer to yell, you know.”

And this time, Rachel answers.

Chloe listens.

“How long?” Rachel asks, stilted and unsteady and sneaking through too many ragged breaths. She reaches up to cup Chloe’s cheeks. “…How long has it been?”

She urges Chloe closer.

And Chloe swerves away at the last second to nip at her throat.

It has Rachel moaning. Whispering her name.

“I’ll tell you after. You know, as long as I’m racking up promises tonight,” Chloe smirks, before she starts sucking and soothing and running her tongue over that patch of slowly bruising skin.

Rachel’s teeth clamp down on her bottom lip in response. Her hands are gripping tight at Chloe’s hair, and her legs seem entirely unsure whether they want Chloe even closer or farther away. But she answers.

Eventually, she answers.

A nod, too stiff, too fast, and her words so wet Chloe can hear the tears she’s fighting back in her fear that she might have just given Chloe the means to break them before they had the chance to be fixed.

But Chloe knows better. She won’t let it happen.

“Then show me.”

_Keep those promises._

Chloe won’t let them break.

Not now. Not ever again.

She kisses a path from the corner of Rachel’s mouth to her cheeks, and her throat, and the space just above the collar of her shirt.

She moves down and down and down until she’s at the waistband of Rachel’s shorts, pulling it back between her teeth and snapping it into Rachel’s skin. The grip in her hair tightens then, and everything blurs, and turns, and the taste and the smell and the feeling of Rachel hits Chloe with a force she hasn’t experienced in too many days to count.

Because this isn’t some girl that looks and talks and acts just enough like Rachel through the haze of too many drinks and too many drugs and too many bodies moving to the steady boom of music. This isn’t Rachel, too out of focus and unsteady in the aftermath of drowning _her_ pain with the very same things.

This is Rachel.

Rachel’s body, and Rachel’s voice, and Rachel’s hands, scratching over her scalp, and Chloe is _here_. Completely focused and aware and able to feel every last detail; able to commit every movement and expression and noise and touch to memory. To make up for all those nights in the dark, too embarrassed to do anything but take for herself and disappear before either of them knew what happened. The nights drunk on pain, too hurt to see straight or feel straight or understand any detail but wispy strands of visions; Rachel reacting and Rachel touching and Rachel, and Rachel, and _Rachel._

~*~

“Do you remember…” Chloe asks, completely genuinely, and Rachel knows it’s bound to be something stupid by the fact that she’s currently palm up and three knuckles deep inside of her, slowly curling her fingers up and up, and over and over, and sliding Rachel further and further into the bed of the truck thanks to the blankets’ complete lack of traction. “That – that old video game? Mario Kart?”

She bites back a laugh.

Maybe Chloe’s mouth would have been better off trapped between her thighs after all. Kisses be damned.

“I think,” Chloe goes on. She’s staring deep into Rachel’s eyes now, and it would almost feel like she’s forgotten what that hand of hers is doing were it not for the fact that she hasn’t stopped for a second. “I think the last time we used these blankets, we got high as hell and played it.”

And this time Rachel loses control entirely, and she’s laughing a deep, full laugh; something straight from her belly; nearly falling to wheezes with its absence.

Chloe doesn’t stop her.

She just keeps working those fingers. In and out and up and down and over and over and _over_ , and when Rachel’s breath begins to steady back to the distinctly unsteady normal of gasps and hitches and stutters, Chloe is _there_. Hovering inches from her face and smiling a perfectly radiant smile.

“Get up,” she whispers sternly, but her voice is warm. “Come back here.”

So, Rachel gets up.

And in the split second before Chloe’s lips are on hers, someone’s tongue in someone else’s mouth and someone’s teeth doing exactly what teeth always do, Chloe’s smile stretches the slightest bit wider.

~*~

It hits Rachel in waves; small and easy enough to dismiss until each new burst is seconds, and longer, and minutes, and the entire thing has already crested far above her line of sight: This never broke anything.

This is what puts them back together.

She understands that now.

Years spent worrying, making sure that everyone else was able to give Chloe what she needs blinded her to the idea that, maybe, what Chloe needs is _her_.

The idea that maybe, all this time, she’s been helping Chloe more than she realized.

She understands that now. Rachel understands that, in some way, she has always been the thing keeping Chloe going. She isn’t just Chloe’s crutch; someone who seeks out things that Chloe might need whenever Chloe needs them; she _is_ the something Chloe needs. The fuel for Chloe flames. The small piece of kindling that kept her feeling secure. Even when she was crumbling to pieces and her own light had begun to dim, she was Chloe’s strength. She _is_ Chloe’s strength. Just like Chloe is hers.

And Chloe asking for permission; Chloe _waiting_ for permission was her attempt to explain as much. To remind Rachel that Chloe can take her trust, tuck it tight against her heart, and return it stronger than ever before. To remind Rachel that she _is_ strong enough to help, if she would only let her.

~*~

_When you’re safe, I’ll be here._

~*~

Rachel nearly cries when she comes.

She tries to hide it. Tries to angle her head to the side and back herself away, but Chloe notices.

Chloe always notices.

“Don’t run away from me,” she whispers, grip like iron around Rachel’s bare hips as the writhing and breathless, empty gasping sends her further into the far corner, halfway up the walls until her limbs are liquid and she’s moments from spilling out and onto the sand-dusted concrete below. “Come back to me.”

Rachel’s eyes are screwed shut when she finally manages to answer with a nod. Her hands are digging hard into the side of the truck.

“Come back to me, Rachel,” Chloe repeats, pressing her lips comfortingly to the inside of Rachel’s thighs.

“Okay,” She finally manages, not a drop of air still in her lungs as she continues clawing at metal. Chloe tugs her, gently, calmly, back toward the bedding, but Rachel doesn’t listen. She doesn’t listen when Chloe gives up that fight, either. When she lets Rachel stay there, clinging to the truck and trembling herself back to sanity as Chloe returns to silently peppering her legs with tens and hundreds and thousands of kisses.

“Give me your hands,” Chloe says. “I’ll help you.”

This time, Rachel listens. Her hands pry themselves loose over the course of countless seconds, and Chloe reaches up to meet them. To guide them down until they’re settled back against her cheeks, and in her hair, and Rachel is back with her.

Chloe runs her thumbs back and forth over Rachel’s wrists, still trailing her lips up and down Rachel’s thighs. Still easing her closer and closer to steady breaths and soft touches and safety.

“I’m right here,” she whispers into Rachel’s pulse point. “I’m right here with you.”

Rachel nods again, shuddering through the motion.

Chloe counts the breaths until Rachel makes it back inside of her own head.

One.

Two.

Three.

She counts the breaths until Rachel feels comfortable enough to look. Not to talk. Not to touch. Just to look.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Finally, Rachel’s hands stroke experimentally through Chloe’s hair.

“Still in one piece?” Chloe asks, calm and quiet.

A short, husky laugh is her answer. Rachel stretches out an arm, flexes her hand open and then closed, and makes a show of wiggling her entire body around as if in search of her answer.

“Yeah,” she says, cracking a smile. “I think so.”

“Good.”

“…So? How long?” Rachel asks, and Chloe is only a _little_ bit clueless, but she clarifies anyway, “How long has it been? You promised to tell me.”

And it gets Chloe sighing, smiling, and reaching up to brush some stray strands of hair out of Rachel’s face. “Right. I did.”

“You did.”

“Other than… you know, last time, it’s been just about a year.”

Something like understanding flashes in Rachel’s eyes in response, and she reaches up to stroke her palm over Chloe’s cheek.

“It’s been awhile,” Chloe mumbles, eyes drifting away toward another corner of the truck. “I needed to just… _this_. Prove I still could.”

Rachel nods slowly. She pulls Chloe down, and pulls her closer; tucks her head into the crook of her neck. And Chloe lets Rachel take her. “Hey Chlo?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you. For pushing,” Rachel sighs, and Chloe reaches up to pat at her cheek like it’s nothing at all even when they both know that it is. “Thank you for being here.”

Chloe tilts her head in answer, reaching up for a quick peck on Rachel’s chin. Another nothing that isn’t quite nothing. “You _have_ to know I’d never be anywhere else.”

And Rachel hums in satisfaction, but Chloe still hears the question she wants to ask. The name she wants to say. The problem she needs Chloe to fix.

“Not even with Max, you fuckin’ bozo. Crush or no crush, you still matter.”

“ _Crush,_ ” Rachel echoes, nuzzling in even closer. “The way I remember it, you said _love._ ”

_You still need to fix it._

“Tell you what: you admit to your more-than-a-crush first, and I’ll go next,” Chloe says through a half laugh, half cough.

_I will. You know I will._

Rachel doesn’t admit to it.

But she does very suddenly change the subject, excitedly exclaiming, “Oh! We should take her up to the cabin soon!”

“…The cabin.”

“Absolutely! She deserves a break.”

And that half laugh of Chloe’s suddenly feels a whole lot more like an entire laugh. “Are you – are you trying to set up a date? Like, a _date_ date? With the three of us? Is this where your post-orgasm glow is taking us today?”

“Yes!” Rachel shoots back, just the slightest bit offended. Rachel has maybe been thinking about this a bit longer than Chloe.

“Rach, we still don’t know if Max is even gonna…”

“She will.” Rachel promises. And something about the tone of her voice is enough for Chloe to believe. Or at least, to let her believe that Rachel believes. Maybe it’s enough. “Okay?”

“Okay then. But… you want to take Max up to the fuck cabin? The fuck cabin that we have historically used for nothing other than to fuck?”

Rachel clicks her tongue and slaps Chloe gently on the back of the head.

“A romantic weekend getaway is a totally normal courting date!” She snaps, and Chloe gets just enough time to mouth the word _courting_ before Rachel taps her palm against her head again.

And everything catches up to Chloe in that moment. Like a slow-motion crystallization, the last piece of the mystery turns solid, and she realizes that she might just be the last one here to have come to terms with her feelings. Rachel knew exactly what all her flirting would do, and she kept it going anyway until one day Max did the thing that Max does, and Rachel was all swept up in _Max_ before she so much as recognized it as a possibility.

All Chloe did was plug her ears and shut her eyes.

And, Max must have at least known…

No.

She’ll cross that bridge if Max actually gives her the chance.

Rachel seems sure she will, but Rachel wasn’t there.

So instead, Chloe shakes the thought from her mind.

“You don’t think that’s weird? Like, aren’t _courting dates_ – ” She asks, but Rachel interrupts and winds up for another hit before Chloe catches her by the wrist, and rolls them over until she’s back on top. Until Rachel is trapped and pinned beneath her, and they’re both giggling their way through the moment, foreheads pressed softly together. “Aren’t courting dates supposed to be one on one? The fuck are we gonna do with three people? How the fuck are you planning to _court?_ ”

Rachel huffs her way straight to the end of her laughter. “Well… that’s why I’m asking! We need to figure this out!” She tries, once and twice and again, to twist herself free from Chloe’s grip, but she doesn’t try particularly hard. Especially not after things inch their way back to smiles and laughs and Chloe’s lips pressed up against her cheek. “Because you’re going to fix this! You’re going to fix it, and everything will be good, and we’ll all be happy again.” And here Rachel’s voice goes even quieter. “I don’t want to lose her because of this, Chloe.”

Chloe takes a deep breath. Deep enough that her lungs feel as if they might burst. She kisses Rachel on the tip of the nose.

“Yeah. We’ll – I’ll… Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what if, stick with me here: 3 girlfriends


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She starts, again, when she sees Chloe lying on her back in the middle of the park, her board ineffectually nudging itself into her side. But then their eyes meet, and Chloe’s are satisfied and sleepy and a little bit suggestive, and her smile has slipped so far away that it’s nothing more than a lopsided curve of her lips.
> 
> And Max’s camera is in her hands, framing up Chloe and her skateboard and the way the golden glow of the setting sun falls over her legs. The way her thighs paint shadows across her body. Smoky eyes and smoky breath and smoky smiles.

In the end, despite her words – her many, _many_ words – Rachel doesn’t feel comfortable enough to let her schedule overlap with Max’s just yet.

She lasts about a week.

The universe shows up around day six to kick her in the ass.

It leads Rachel to the cafeteria for dinner for the first time in too long to remember. Her eyes lock onto Max the moment she steps inside, and she’s moving before she can stop herself. She barely even registers that Max isn’t alone until she’s already sliding into the seat next to her and snaking a hand under the hem of her shirt, flattening a palm against the small of her back. Max gasps faintly at the contact, her cheeks flooding with pink, and it blocks out the rest of the world for those short few fractions of a second.

“Rachel!” One of Max’s friends says in a tone no less excited for how muted it sounds, and Rachel manages to blink the world back into view to see Kate leaning forward from Max’s other side, smiling like the sun itself. “How are you?”

Rachel reaches over with her free hand, brushing her nails softly across Kate’s elbow. She only takes the _slightest_ bit of pleasure in the way Max’s breath chokes itself to nothing in her throat at the unintentional increase in contact. “I’m doing okay,” she beams, turning to greet the rest of their company: Bad haircut. Short-sleeve-long-sleeve and carpenter jeans. The Warren boy. Him and all of his awkward, confused silence. The one with the awful habit of being the wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time. Rachel must have arrived just in time to interrupt another one of his routines. “I had something I wanted to talk with Max about, but it can wait!”

In return, Kate smiles and takes another bite of her meal. Rachel takes her own advantage of the silence that it presents, and she plucks a bite of Max’s salad out of its plastic container with a wink. She leans closer, tucking her head into Max’s shoulder. Just long enough to get Warren awkwardly shuffling around in his seat while he waits for a chance to talk.

The opportunity presented goes entirely over his head.

So, the hand Rachel still has sitting underneath Max’s shirt begins scratching slowly, back and forth. Dancing over her skin.

If _he_ won’t take advantage…

Something like a stifled giggle comes from Kate’s direction at almost the same moment, and were Rachel anyone else, she might say it disappears too quickly to know for sure. But she isn’t. So she doesn’t. And Kate throws out a lifeline, gesturing across the table. “Warren here was just telling us about a new cartoon he thinks Max would like!”

He latches onto the opportunity like his life really does depend on it.

“Y – yeah! It’s more of an anime though. Like, okay, so, cartoons aren’t really the same thing, and – ”

“Oh!” Rachel interrupts, without so much as a shred of guilt. Maybe in another time, or another place, or another universe altogether she might not give him such a hard time. One where she hasn’t already set her sights on Max. But _this_ Max in _this_ universe is off limits. She makes sure to flick a finger up Max’s other side just inside of his line of sight. Just obviously enough that he might be able to put two and two together. Just enough to establish that line. “Taylor and Vicky _love_ those things.”

Max turns then, giving her very best attempt at meeting Rachel’s eyes before she remembers exactly where it is that Rachel’s eyes _are_. In return, Rachel slides her hand lazily out from underneath Max’s shirt. She reaches up to brush more than a few strands of Max’s hair away from her cheek and presses a lengthy, perfectly innocent kiss to the spot. She only pulls back, only lets her fingers slide around to the back of Max’s neck to occupy themselves on Max’s other shoulder, when Max begins to blush.

An attempt at spoiling the moment is made. Rachel expected Warren might try.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you two were so cl – ”

It doesn’t work. Rachel expected that, too.

“Mhm!” She hums, wetting her thumb and wiping the faint stain of lipstick from Max’s cheek. “You didn’t hear it from me, but Max, they might honestly be bigger closet sci-fi nerds than Chloe.” Here, at least, Rachel decides to give Warren a break. She looks in his direction and says, as genuinely as she can manage through the smug satisfaction she still feels over Max’s building blush, “I’ve never seen it, but they have both informed me – on multiple occasions, and in _vivid_ detail – of the differences between every version of some movie called _Ghost in the Shell._ ”

It manages to pull a quiet little laugh from Max, and that laugh manages to get some more impotent frustration out of Warren. And, _that_ – his reaction – is all the motivation Rachel needs to ignore him entirely in favor of whisking Max away.

Her hand draws a completely new path back down to Max’s waist when she says, “So, I talked to her. Chloe.”

It takes Max a moment to pull herself away from Warren’s newest burst of speechlessness. It takes her another to register what Rachel means. Thankfully, she seems at least hesitantly interested, judging by the way she tilts her head so that her cheek is pressed up against the top of Rachel’s. One of her rare returns of physical affection.

“Say the word and I’ll light a fire under her ass. We’ll get her over here in ten minutes tops,” Rachel smiles, and Max giggles. “But more importantly, after you two have a chance to talk things out,” Rachel goes on, taking note of the relief in Max’s presence that she doesn’t clarify any further. “I was wondering…”

“Rachel?” Max asks, voice so small it has Kate knowingly going laser-focused on her meal, while Warren leans across the table like he’s even remotely involved in the situation.

“If you feel up for it, I was hoping I could talk you into a top-secret weekend vacation. Just the three of us.”

Max doesn’t answer immediately, so to fill the silence, Rachel shoots a wink over in Warren’s direction and watches as he turns and tries to pretend like he’s invisible.

At this point, he may as well be.

Kate practically sing-songs her follow-up. Always helping, that one. “A few days off might be exactly the thing you need, Max,” she says. Rachel cracks the smallest little smile at the sound.

“You don’t have to come,” Rachel promises, her voice dipping just a bit too faint for the moment or for her tastes. As if to punctuate the entire thing with a particularly cruel punchline, Max pulls away. Only far enough to look her in the eyes, but still. She pulls away. “You _don’t_. But please trust me on this one. I thought _really_ hard about what we could do that wouldn’t end up a rerun of my last few tries, and I think this is it. No crowds, no strangers, just us.”

Max doesn’t answer right away.

Rachel waits.

She never tries to ask too much of Max.

She never _tries_ , but it happens. A lot. Too much.

And it isn’t that she avoids pushing because she thinks Max can’t handle it. She avoids pushing because she trusts Max to know her limits better than Rachel ever could.

Rachel likes Chloe, and Chloe likes Rachel, and Rachel and Chloe like parties, and crowds, and loud open spaces. Max doesn’t.

So, Rachel avoids pushing because she wants Max to feel like she found her way forward through her own power.

But things go wrong nearly every time.

Things go wrong, and somehow Max still manages to exceed her wildest expectations.

Rachel still remembers the way Max held her ground at the start of the school year, back when she was _convinced_ Rachel might be trying to pull her in for some elaborate prank, and all Rachel was running on was skimmed recollections of diary entries and a few stray instances of Chloe’s sleep talking. She still remembers the awe she felt when Max stood up for herself in photography class, weeks before Rachel even considered that she might be strong enough to reintroduce to Chloe. She remembers that awe hitting her again like a slap to the face when Max managed to take being completely abandoned during that disaster of a party, turn it around, and make a new friend.

When Max wedged herself just a bit deeper into the roots of their lives.

And again, after that.

And again.

And again.

But the Max here, now, is staring a hole through Rachel’s face, her mouth searching for words that her head clearly can’t quite piece together.

Rachel takes another gamble.

Maybe those things went wrong because Rachel didn’t push.

She reaches up with her free hand to cup Max’s cheek.

“I promise you’ll like it,” she whispers, breathy and low and slow, and definitely too genuine for the audience they have.

She doesn’t comment on the steadily increasing volume of Warren’s floundering.

Or even the smirk Kate tries hard to bury behind the strategic use of a napkin.

Because as much as she would _love_ to assume that this ends in a yes, the decision is for Max. This needs to happen at Max’s pace. When Max is ready. And, she can understand perfectly this hesitance.

But when Max finally nods her way through a huge, fluttering exhale, Rachel nearly loses it.

She leans in and kisses Max again on the cheek. A big and noisy show of a thing. She tugs Max close, tucking her head into her shoulder just out of Warren’s line of sight so that she can shamelessly smile and mouth out a _thank you_ in Kate’s direction.

She gets a wink for her trouble before Kate returns to her meal, still the picture of innocence.

~*~

Stealing Max away is easy enough after that. They both make a point to say goodbye to Kate, and only Kate. Because Warren is still trapped in his weird little world, shocked into silence by the sight of Rachel’s affection.

Though, he does at least manage to fire off a _they really are like sisters,_ just before they step out of earshot.

Rachel manages to keep the shit-eating grin off her face until they’re long gone, rounding another corner into some quieter side of the building. She buries it right back down before she turns back to Max to continue their conversation.

“So,” she says, standing too close and speaking too low because she always gets _all_ of Max’s attention when she breaks out this particular voice. “The last thing I want is for you to feel rushed, but… If you want… We can call Chloe over here right now. And if you don’t, just say the word. It can be tomorrow, or next week, or the week after, or – ”

“It’s fine, Rachel,” Max interrupts, slipping into muted laughter as she reaches forward to brush a hand down Rachel’s shoulder. From anyone else, Rachel wouldn’t so much as blink at the contact. But it’s more than Max has ever tried with her. “I think – I want to get this over with now,” Max goes on with a sigh, and a blush, and okay – _there’s_ the look Rachel expected. “Talking to Chloe, I mean. I trust you. And your super-secret plans.”

Rachel blinks.

Rachel smiles.

“So… You know… This weekend sounds good. The whole getaway thing,” Max adds.

And Rachel grips Max lightly by the wrists. “I’ll text Chloe right now.”

She pulls Max into a tight hug, buries her face in Max’s neck, and refuses to let go.

She _could_ kiss Max again. She could do it right this time, too. Lips and tongues and maybe a little bit more just to finally know what sort of noises she might make. But Max isn’t there yet. Max needs to get there on her own, and this is enough for now.

“Rachel.” Another laugh cuts off Max’s next attempt at talking. But only for a moment. “Rachel, I think – you have to let go to text her.”

“I do.”

Rachel doesn’t let go.

What she _does_ do is begin rocking from side to side until Max starts laughing again, and they’re both flopping around from foot to foot in a messy approximation of a circle.

It isn’t much longer before Rachel relents with a “ _Fine,_ ” and affectionately brushes some stray hairs away from Max’s lips. She pulls out her phone, taps out a quick one-handed message, and offers Max her free hand. But then, not content to follow along with Rachel’s expectations, Max tucks herself into Rachel’s side like it’s something perfectly normal; perfectly everyday for her.

And.

Well.

Maybe, at this point, it is.

Maybe there _is_ something to be said for pushing these things.

“You ready?” Rachel asks. Max nods. “That’s my girl. Let’s get you ready to give Chloe hell!”

~*~

Max isn’t sure about much these days. A side of effect of living a life running parallel to the wildfire named Rachel and Chloe if she had to guess. But she feels sure about this: there’s been some kind of a shift recently. It could have happened within herself, or it could have happened within everyone else. She isn’t sure. But it’s enough to make her anxious. Not quite nervous, or tense, or anything so harsh as that… But, definitely _anxious._ A vague, easily ignorable humming in the background of her mind. Anxious.

She knows enough things.

She sees enough things.

She always has. And given that her closest friends in the world are the living breathing equivalent of a natural disaster, _seeing things_ is something getting more and more use these days. It’s her talent. Her special thing. In the same way that they both feel everything in their skin and their muscles and through every inch of skin, all the way down to their bones, Max _sees_ things. They have their way, and it works for them, but Max isn’t strong like that. She doesn’t _want_ to be strong like that.

She’s strong in her own way.

And that way is how Max knows something is wrong. Or… _off_ , maybe. It’s how she knows there’s been a shift in the space left by the _thing_ that happened between Rachel and Chloe in the middle of the dorms. The thing about her. It isn’t done. Not entirely. But something is different enough that now Rachel wants to surprise Max without surprising her, like she’s fallen back into her old tricks from before she knew with today’s confidence who Max _is,_ but after they had already grown to be… something. Something not quite friends.

Yet.

Only, this time, it doesn’t feel like Rachel throwing darts at a board and hoping she might be able to thread a path from the misses to the bullseye.

This time feels like it might just be the only thing Rachel is confident enough to try.

Which is the thing that feels wrong.

But then, if she’s learned anything under Rachel’s influence these past few months, it’s this: Sometimes thinking isn’t enough. Sometimes _seeing_ isn’t enough. If she wants to get to the core of the issue, she has to take that step herself.

~*~

She expected to see Chloe waiting outside the dorms.

Rachel mentioned, partway through deciding on an outfit for Max – something she didn’t have the energy to fight, because she _never_ has the energy to fight Rachel’s enthusiasm – that Chloe was waiting outside the dorms.

So, she expected that much.

What she did not expect was to find Chloe working lazily through a cigarette, relaxing under a tree with Dana draped over her side, head tucked into the crook of Chloe’s neck and the rest of her wrapped around one of Chloe’s arms and one of Chloe’s legs, while Taylor carefully frames pictures of them both.

But it’s what she finds.

Dana sees them first.

And just like that, the photo session is forgotten, and she’s waving, lighting up like a puppy that heard the sound of crinkling plastic the next room over. A breath passes that has Chloe going still and tense, but Dana shoves the mood away as soon as it arrives when she whines for help in standing up. Max just barely makes out the comment about Dana’s legs falling asleep before Chloe starts laughing, and Dana starts laughing, and suddenly they’re both joking about _I’m the one with a smoking problem, why do_ you _need help,_ and _oh shut it, you love me,_ as they start hauling each other to their feet.

And then Dana is there, pulling Max into a too-tight hug and already shoving her way through the tail end of her twenty questions about how Max has been holding up. “I couldn’t even begin to tell you,” she admits, looking Max square in the eyes, expression stern and serious and so completely different from the mental image of Dana that Max has formed these past few months. “The last time I saw Chloe so worried about making things right.”

Max chokes on a whole lot of nothing.

“What?”

Because what if Dana knows?

But, then, no. This isn’t the place to bring up that particular issue. This isn’t that. It can’t be that.

And, as if in answer to that thought rather than Max’s confusion, Dana nods, pushing out a harsh breath through her nose with the motion. “Yeah! That night in the showers – whatever you two got up to after I left has been eating away at her. She’s been so miserable she even _called_ me the other day. Chloe never calls _anyone_ but Rachel! It’s texts or nothing with that girl. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

At something of a loss, Max looks away.

She hopes she might find an answer magically waiting over one of Dana’s shoulders.

She doesn’t.

All she sees over one is Rachel and Taylor chatting happily away. Over the other, Chloe is kicking at the grass and pretending like she’s not caught in the act; like she hasn’t been eavesdropping and hoping for her turn.

Max almost thinks to smile at the sight before Dana interrupts with another big burst of completely unfiltered positive energy. “Anyway! I’ll get out of your hair. Let me know how things go, alright?” She taps Max on the nose. “Don’t forget you’re important to me too, Max!”

And Max falls directly back into _confused_.

She watches Dana half-jog to catch up with Rachel and Taylor, and then Chloe spills into her line of view like water into an empty cup. Like she wanted this opportunity a little bit more than Max really expected.

“Hey.” Is all Chloe manages, more of a strangled sort of whisper than anything else.

“…Hey.”

“Can we, uh…” She swallows, and Max watches intently as her eyes dart away and she scratches at her neck. Chloe is nervous. “Can we talk, Super Max?”

Chloe is _nervous._

Max keeps right on staring until she stares just a bit too long. “Yeah – yes. Of course. Just… not anywhere private, if that’s okay.”

It should hurt to see Chloe so defeated in response to such a simple comment.

It doesn’t.

“Okay. Yeah, okay, that’s fair. Lead the way.”

Choosing a fitting spot on the spot is a bit of a struggle, but Max is nothing if not more and more confident thinking on the fly every single day. She leads them to her favorite picnic table. And, Chloe does manage to apologize eventually. It takes her a long while, and she struggles in ways that must be hurting her more deeply than Max thinks she’ll ever understand.

What she _does_ understand is that to Chloe, being able to communicate is one of the most important things in the world. So to be here, stuck, stumbling for the right words with someone she’s known her entire life must pierce like a knife to the gut.

“My life fucking sucks, Max,” she exhales, a slow, quiet whisper of a thing. “What I have with Rachel has been one of the only things I’ve been able to point to as proof that someone still cares. And then you showed up, and… like…” One of Chloe’s hands finds its way to the back of her neck. “I fuckin’ missed you, dude! I missed what we had and I wanted that again even if it meant getting all caught up in feelings I’ve been ignoring for years. And then – and then! Look at you! You had five years in Seattle to grow into this!”

She flails her arms across the table at Max like she really believes something there might explain away her nerves.

“It’s like you really don’t see it, sometimes. But. Anyway. I figured, you know, even if all I got out of having you back was a bunch of pretend, I wanted – fuck, I wanted my friend back. And, karma, jacked up monkey’s paw finger, whatever the hell, grabbed me by the shoulders and said ‘Hey. Fuck you,’ and I ended up with… This. You’re fucking incredible, Max. You’re… _Fuck_.

Chloe pauses to gather her breath. She still refuses to look Max in the eyes. “That. That night… You were there that night. I needed someone, and,” Chloe shrugs, shaking her head in her frustration over still being unable to find the words. “You were there. And you were so _nice_. And… Something broke. In me. Every stupid fucking feeling I’ve ever had about you came flooding out, and… God. Max, I’m so sorry for what I did to you.”

Max doesn’t have the words.

She stares in silence.

And she reaches across the table for Chloe’s hands.

“Like, please don’t – I’m not blaming you, Max. None of this is really an excuse, just,” Chloe pauses, rips her hands free and slides off her hat to scratch at her hair. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to explain this, and… There’re some things I’ve been keeping quiet about that I think you need to hear if you’re gonna… you know, stay. With, um… With m – with us. Us.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Chloe.”

“Max, I really won’t blame you if you never want to talk to me again.”

“I’m here. I’m not going.”

Chloe finally locks her gaze on Max, as if to test the weight of that sentence. Of Max’s resolve.

But Max doesn’t back down.

And Chloe has no more choice left but to explain. To explain what exists between herself and Rachel. Between herself and Dana, and Kate, and Taylor, and Victoria, and everyone else Max knows, and everyone else Max doesn’t until the gaps in her knowledge are finally another step closer to complete.

Chloe tells her about David, and about how he is to Chloe. She skims over the details about Frank, and how _he_ is with Rachel. She tells her to stay away from Frank. To never, _ever_ look into him, or investigate in the ways she knows Max must want to. She makes Max promise with everything in her that she will only ever ask questions if Rachel is the one to tell her. She can’t be the one to look. She can’t be the one to ask. She can’t be the one to search. She needs to be the one to wait until Rachel decides that it’s her turn to know.

And Max doesn’t get it.

But she thinks she kind of gets it.

She squeezes at Chloe’s hands.

~*~

“You were good for us, Max.” Chloe says, solemnly. “Even if I fucked that all up. You made Rachel and I want to be better.”

Something in the way Chloe makes that admission, like she’s scared to say Max might have affected her, on her own, differently from the rest, forces out Max’s question entirely too quickly.

“Can I still be?”

Hands flexing in confusion underneath Max’s grip, Chloe chokes on something. Her own breath maybe.

“Can I still be good for you, Chloe?” Max repeats.

“But – you… _Max_.”

“I don’t… I don’t hate what happened. And – I don’t hate you for it,” she explains, watching with an invisible little pulse of pleasure at the sight of Chloe’s eyebrows crawling up toward her hairline. “I just… you didn’t stop when I asked you to stop. That’s all I wanted.”

“Max?”

“And you left before I could tell you. I didn’t want you _gone_. I’ve never wanted you gone, Chloe. Not ever. I just… I’ve never… And I wanted a chance to slow down, and, like – you’re probably supposed to talk about these things when it’s your first – I… I wanted you to slow down.”

Chloe’s answer comes in the form of her continuing silence.

And Max doesn’t exactly have words either, so she stares back from somewhere underneath her eyelashes, brows scrunched together in concentration.

Until finally Chloe cracks.

“So,” she swallows hard, working her jaw into the shape of words that refuse to come. “So, then, where do we go from here?”

“I don’t know.”

Max isn’t sure how long they stay together, after that.

But before she can think up anything else that might pull them both out of the moment, Chloe offers a trip to the skate park.

For old time’s sake.

“Let’s back up a bit,” she says with a hesitant smile. “Fresh starts and all that.”

And, well, maybe a fresh start is exactly what they need.

~*~

“Alright, Mad Max. You ready to have your mind _blown?_ ”

“Absolutely,” Max giggles from where she sits, perched at the top the same quarter pipe near the back of the park she always used to watch from when they were kids. The whole place is a little more worn and a little more weathered, but what isn’t these days? It makes things easier. It makes this attempt at a fresh start easier. “I haven’t seen you skate since we were kids, I’m sure you’re as good as the pros by now.”

Chloe smirks and quirks a brow, looking out at the scattered handful of others hanging around, barely making use the park.

And then she reaches down to ruffle Max’s hair.

“Got any requests? Or is your knowledge of my one and only love still as bad as ever?”

“Of course!” Max swats halfheartedly at Chloe’s hand. “Baby Max didn’t know shit; I know all sorts of skater tricks now.”

Chloe’s smirk grows just a fraction of an inch wider. A silent _please, go on._

And Max freezes up.

Just for a moment.

Because, _god_ , that look. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe agreeing to see Chloe at all was a bad idea when she’s still so caught up in her feelings like this and when Chloe is so clearly ready to go back to being _friends_.

“Kickflip,” Max starts despite herself, counting with the help of her fingers. She begins trailing off nearly as soon as she starts. “Nollie, grind… Tr – truck.”

Before she can come up with anything else, Chloe is chuckling again, low and happy and real. The sound sends heat pulsing out from Max’s heart and along every single one of her nerves until the sensation fizzles away as intensely as it came.

“Hey, watch my phone?” Chloe offers, and Max takes it before she can give herself an excuse not to. Chloe winks. “Don’t need it getting ruined when I’m busy trying to show off.”

Max isn’t quite sure when it is that she leaves.

Honestly, Max barely realizes she’s still clutching onto the thing and not taking pictures until Chloe catches air barely a few feet away and time itself seems to slow just long enough for Max to watch Chloe sticking her tongue out in midair like she sees _exactly_ what’s going on inside of Max’s head.

Which is impressive.

Because not even Max can figure out what’s going inside of that thing lately. _Off_ is the running theme, and that’s hardly specific.

But she glances down at Chloe’s phone, and her thoughts become suddenly more audible. Max thought – she really, truly did – that today would be simple. A simple confrontation with a simple solution: either Chloe apologizes or she doesn’t. But seeing her again… and hearing what she had to say… Max has no clue what Chloe is thinking underneath all of those smirks and those looks and the touches and the jokes. Apologizing felt like something special.

 _This_ feels like something special.

Even giving over her phone feels like something special, and Max isn’t sure how to respond to that. Does it mean Chloe wants to go back to being friends? Does it mean she wants something more? Is that what she meant by backing up? Or does it mean something less; something mundane and _normal_ like maybe Chloe really just wanted to show off, and she got worried about breaking her phone, and when it comes right down to it, she doesn’t care if Max happens to see someone text her a silly picture of a cat in sunglasses.

Or whatever Chloe’s friends text her.

Max stops worrying when she hears Chloe’s laughter.

She starts, again, when she sees Chloe lying on her back in the middle of the park, her board ineffectually nudging itself into her side. But then their eyes meet, and Chloe’s are satisfied and sleepy and a little bit suggestive, and her smile has slipped so far away that it’s nothing more than a lopsided curve of her lips.

And Max’s camera is in her hands, framing up Chloe and her skateboard and the way the golden glow of the setting sun falls over her legs. The way her thighs paint shadows across her body. Smoky eyes and smoky breath and smoky smiles.

And Max thinks.

There’s something about being near Chloe that makes _deciding_ and _knowing_ into some insurmountable challenge. Something in the way she’s smiling at Max right now that has about a hundred and a half butterflies trying to escape her stomach and her heart banging around somewhere near her ears.

Chloe has been that way for as long as Max has known her; she’s been carrying that something nearly their entire lives.

It’s something lovely.

Something about the way she moves, always carrying the smell of smoke and the essence of nostalgia and childhood summers long gone around her like she’s managed to bottle up the concept of the past into a perfume that no one has access to but her; how she never tries to quietly tuck herself into spaces, quiet or humble or making herself small, like she doesn’t know how to _be_ without demanding everyone’s attention. It’s amazing, and calming, and energizing, and so many conflicting things all at once watching the way she lives her life.

Even just watching the way she is here and now. The way she’s lying on the ground and watching Max work like she wasn’t just flying weightlessly through the air and over the concrete and the wood and the rails with an otherworldly grace barely moments ago.

But then, that’s Chloe. It always has been Chloe.

Chloe just _is._

And if she’s at all aware of how hypnotic she is, she certainly knows how to drive Max crazy over that fact.

Max takes the shot.

And Chloe scrunches up her face, sticking out her tongue and looking like the happiest person on earth just as the camera freezes the moment forever.

~*~

This time, Max remembers to watch and to take pictures.

Chloe climbs to her feet, dusts herself off, and acts like she’s perfectly fine. Max wants to ask about her bruises. There’s no way they’re all healed and gone. Not so soon.

But Chloe looks so happy.

And maybe Max is okay with letting her add a scrape or two to the list if it means she gets to see that smile one more time.

~*~

They keep going until the sun is almost fallen behind the trees and the buildings, and the stars are rising up to take its place, too impatient to wait until dark has swept over the sky.

They look over every photo together.

Max stays maybe a little too close.

Because maybe that look from earlier is still on her mind. The smile and the calm and the way Chloe kept herself perfectly still, and, maybe…Maybe it means exactly what Max hopes it does.

It isn’t until they’re finished and wandering lazily back to Chloe’s truck that Max decides. To be proactive. To act on that maybe. She’s managed to build _so_ much confidence these past few months, and… Honestly? What’s the point in having it if she doesn’t let herself act on it every now and again?

So, rather than climb into her own seat and act like everything is fine, Max follows Chloe to the other side.

And when Chloe laughs because she doesn’t know whether something is wrong, Max stares back; stares up, concentrating maybe a bit too hard. Wondering whether she might find an answer before she takes this one final step. Wondering whether maybe it isn’t smart to follow through after all.

But then Chloe’s smile goes soft and fond, and she tilts her head to the side like she’s waiting for the punchline of a joke.

And then that smile goes a little bit nervous.

And it fades altogether.

And Max decides.

She stretches up to her toes, hands brushing against Chloe’s wrists, and she kisses her quick on the cheek. Just close enough to brush her own lips against Chloe’s.

She doesn’t look back when she pulls away, simply nods, steps around to the other side of the truck, and slides into her seat.

But when nearly a minute passes and Chloe is still standing completely frozen in place, mouth held slightly agape and two fingers disbelievingly pressed against the place where Max kissed her, she decides to summon one more burst of courage. “Don’t get me wrong,” Max says, and Chloe jolts to life nearly the instant she speaks. “You’re not – you’re not out of the woods yet. But… That’s for what you said earlier.”

Chloe doesn’t answer; she stays standing in place, speechless, but she’s at least looking at Max now.

So, Max keeps going. “I’m not ready to give up whatever we had before things went…” She trails off momentarily, pulling her resolve back with a single, steady breath. “I want to figure out where we go from here, and I want to keep being… good… for you.”

Thankfully, Max manages to get in every last word before she feels the faint beginnings of a blush creeping up her neck. She turns away from Chloe’s gaze, and stares intently out of her own window, smiling the biggest smile she’s worn in years, and _hiding_ the biggest smile she’s worn in years, and thinking for the first time since the day she walked into the middle of that world-shaking fight that maybe the universe _didn’t_ jumble itself up like a couple of eight year old kids trying to dislodge a gumball from the machine at the back of the Two Whales.

Maybe things are going to be okay.

Maybe _maybe_ is enough.

Chloe makes some kind of strangled attempt at a noise, then. She stumbles her way into the truck, banging her elbows and knees more than once in the attempt.

Max doesn’t look. She can hear.

She doesn’t look until one of Chloe’s hands finds its way to her shoulder and gently urges her to turn around. She turns, and sees Chloe grinning ear to ear, open as a book and wearing all sorts of innocent childlike joy.

She crawls just a little bit further into Max’s personal space.

“Is this okay?” Chloe asks, her other hand propping itself against Max’s door and effectively boxing her in. Max’s heart is pounding so hard she can almost feel the beat of it in her throat. Can nearly hear the pulse in the drums of her ears. Can practically taste the movement of it all.

But she nods.

And Chloe kisses her. So, _so_ gently.

And Chloe’s phone – Chloe’s phone that Max is still holding onto – goes off, and the moment is lost, and Max is fishing through her pockets, and under her legs, and trying as hard as she possibly can not to laugh.

A text from Rachel is waiting when she finds it.

Chloe groans, and laughs, and curses one or two or three different things under her breath as she climbs back out of the cabin. But she’s smiling, half lit by the dull glow of the parking lot lights when she calls Rachel back. She’s smiling when Rachel answers.

Max takes another picture.

~*~

Sometime during the drive back to Blackwell, Max starts dozing off.

The first time Chloe notices, they’re sitting at a red light, no more sun left in the sky. She just barely manages to bite back her smile at the sight of Max nearly toppling over into her shoulder.

The next time, Max falls _completely_ into her. She only realizes what happens when Chloe chuckles quietly to herself, and it results in her scrambling back across the bench and into the door, frantically apologizing every second of the lead up to Chloe yanking Max back over with a “Just c’mere, dumbass. Sleep if you gotta. We have time.”

Max doesn’t argue.

And, when they finally pull up to the smaller, roofed parking lot nearer the dorms, Chloe decides not to let Rachel know they’re back.

Not right away.

She lets herself enjoy the peace and the quiet and the comforting weight of Max at her side.

~*~

Before long, Chloe feels sleep fighting to drag her along, too.

She at least remembers to text Rachel before it happens.

~*~

The next thing she realizes, she’s leaning against the car door with Max tucked safely into the crook of her arm.

Rachel is leaning through the open window, one arm resting on the frame as she rakes her nails gently over Chloe’s scalp. She’s watching them both with so much love in her eyes that the weight of it catches against Chloe’s breath in the very farthest depths of her lungs.

“Hey,” Chloe husks, eyes heavy and already seconds from dropping closed again. “How long’ve you been here?”

Rachel presses a single kiss to her cheek. She does not answer the question. “I didn’t want to wake you. Looks like things went pretty well, huh?”

In answer, Chloe leans just a little further back, nuzzling into Rachel’s presence until they’re somehow tucked fully into each other. Until Rachel’s cheek rests against the top of Chloe’s head. Until one of Chloe’s arms wraps around to scratch gently at the back of Rachel’s neck.

“I think,” Chloe smiles. “I think… yeah. You still sure about that plan of yours?”

Rachel turns, peppering Chloe’s cheek with another ten or hundred or million little kisses. It draws a satisfied hum from Chloe’s throat. Something slow and unhurried as the two of them continue trying to touch as much of each other as they can. Until they’re both as tangled together as they can possibly manage with a rolled down car window in the way. Hands in hair and skin to skin as they both turn to watch the sleeping lump in question. The one currently curled up into a ball and wrapped tight around Chloe’s side.

“She – I think she kissed me.”

A smile spreads across Rachel’s face. Chloe matches every inch when she feels it happen.

“Is that a question, Chlo?”

“…Max kissed me.”

And Rachel hums.

Rachel hums, and they both return to their silence like that admission is no more important than the weather. They both return to their silence until enough time has passed that Rachel’s eyes drift closed and Chloe has no more choice but to chuckle at the whole situation.

“Little help? Don’t need you falling asleep on me, too.”

No answer comes until Chloe jostles Rachel away.

“What do I get for my trouble?” Rachel asks. Chloe leans far enough forward that their lips are barely an inch apart. Far enough that they’re all foreheads touching, smiles and mingling breaths. Gentle, lazy lips halfway to being in the wrong place for conversation until they’re _all_ the way to being in the wrong place for conversation, and there’s nothing left to say with the way their lips move together. Slow and lazy, matching smirks as Chloe takes Rachel’s bottom lip softly between her teeth. As their lips meet and part, tender and content and endlessly, relentlessly honest.

By the time they finally pull apart, Rachel is smiling ear to ear.

“Well. In _that_ case,” she breathes, husky and lyrical and probably all too aware what that particular tone of voice does to Chloe.

And just like that, she slips away to the back of the truck, deliberately crossing where Chloe can’t see. Deliberately taking each step as slow as she can, so that when she finally passes through the rearview mirror, Chloe has no real choice but to rumble out another muted string of laughter.

A frustrated series of groans from Max follows when she pops back up behind Max’s door, climbing in after to nudge her awake. Max groans once, twice, and again. Lazy and played up like she wants absolutely none of what’s happening when Rachel finally wrangles an arm around her shoulder.

“Come on, honey. Let’s get you into a real bed.”

Max grumbles another incoherent something, but she does nod and go along – eyes closed the whole way out of some strange sense of determination.

~*~

While Rachel guides Max back into her own room, Chloe waits, watching, propped against the door to Rachel’s.

Long minutes pass before Rachel makes her way back over, and her eyes have long since drifted closed by the time a pair of arms circles gently around her waist from behind. Rachel presses a kiss to Chloe’s spine over the fabric of her tank top. And then another. And another, and another, each lighter and quicker than the last until eventually she’s slowing all over again, yawning and burying her face into the spot.

She lets go after a beat, circling around to be face to face.

“What?” She giggles, sliding her arms back around Chloe’s waist when she finally takes notice of sleepy half smile Chloe is wearing.

“Nothing,” Chloe says, punctuating the thought with a kiss. “I love you.”

She means to pull away, then. To let that be their good night. To drive herself home before exhaustion finally catches up to her.

Rachel has other ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you who have taken the time to comment up until now! I always enjoy seeing what you have to say. 
> 
> One more chapter to go!
> 
> (and also maybe possibly a Dana/Chloe side story depending on whether the current outline I have decides to finish the job and just kill me already)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, Caulfield,” Chloe smirks, lolling her head in Max’s direction and looking absolutely stunning in the pulsing glow of the TV. So many colors changing every half second and painting her in tens and hundreds of LED canvases. Each and every one burning itself into the walls Max’s heart. Chloe shakes the beer they both know is empty like she still expects to find anything else inside, throws her head back, and pretends to drink whatever lukewarm drops might still be left. “You didn’t think you had a monopoly on keeping me awake, did you?”

It rains the entire day leading up to Rachel’s weekend plans.

Chloe is busy with a double shift at the Two Whales when Rachel and Max pull up to the cabin late that afternoon, just as the clouds begin to break. Max wonders aloud once or twice on the drive over why they’re going alone, and so far ahead of Chloe at that.

 _To make sure you have time to explore,_ Rachel offers each time. _To make sure you’re comfortable._

She hardly has time to pull her car into park before Max yanks her camera out of her bag with a breathy _wowser_ , and she barrels out and into the surrounding woods like a gust of wind. The snap of the camera lens echoes through the air two and then three times before Rachel can get to her feet, and once again before she finally catches up.

She lets herself laugh.

“I love it up here after it rains!” She says, sliding into place at Max’s side as she continues framing up a shot of the horizon, mist and clouds and countless droplets of water blanketing the tops of the trees. “The fresh air always smells incredible.”

Max doesn’t flinch. She barely even bothers to tilt her head away from the camera to stop framing her shot and address Rachel directly. “Petrichor.”

“Hm?” Rachel hums, dragging her nails slowly up the path of Max’s spine.

Whatever confidence might have existed in Max’s obliviousness evaporates in an instant.

Max trembles faintly, and turns around, smiling that tiny shy smile of hers and ducking her head carefully away; making sure to keep from meeting Rachel’s eyes. “The – the smell after it rains. Petrichor.”

Rachel smiles. She’s caught somewhere between maintaining her smirk and fighting back the urge to lean close, lean forward, and whisper her thoughts directly into Max’s mouth. To pass the words between their lips like a secret that not even the air and the _petrichor_ deserve to hear. But then Max starts to blush at the slowly building silence, and Rachel decides: She can have both.

“You know, I _probably_ should’ve expected this,” she says, good humored and light.

“…What?” Max jolts to attention, staring directly into Rachel’s eyes as she asks. She looks so immediately drenched in guilt that Rachel _almost_ falters and _almost_ gives up.

But she doesn’t.

Max could never ruin anything.

She takes Max’s chin gently between two fingers, inching herself the slightest bit closer. “You. Being a little oblivious on this whole courtship thing.”

Max’s expression doesn’t change. Not in the first moment.

Her entire face draws itself into confusion the very next.

“…Courtship.”

Rachel nods. “Max, we have this entire place _all_ to ourselves.”

“But – courtship?” Max snorts suddenly, washing away every bit of that anxiety like nothing. Rachel is still smiling when the rest of that thought comes. “Are you – ” Max cuts herself off with another laugh. “ – Rachel, are you courtship-ing me?”

Rachel takes another step closer. She’s all the way inside of Max’s personal space when she asks, “What is it about that word that gets you _and_ Chloe reacting like this, hm?”

She hopes the mention of Chloe might throw Max back off balance.

It doesn’t.

“It,” Max starts, cutting herself off, again, with another blissfully happy, blissfully unaware bout of laughter. “Rachel – who says _courtship_ anymore?”

“I do!”

The continuing grin – toothy and genuine and scrunching her eyes up at the corners – is all the answer she gives.

“Fine, you can ignore my question. But, Max?” Rachel whispers, leaning through that final bit of distance until they’re close enough to stop seeing anything else but each other.

It’s the thing that finally trips Max up. “Y – yes?”

“I would _really_ like to kiss you now.”

A shudder passes through Max’s next breath. Rachel thinks she might finally have realized how close they are.

“O – oh.”

“Yeah.”

Max’s eyes dart down to Rachel’s lips.

And then back to her eyes.

Her mouth works into the shape of a silent almost-word.

And, then, “…Okay.”

~*~

**rachel!!!**

**what th e fuck!!!!**

A laugh track spreads faintly through the living room, courtesy of whatever daytime sitcom Max turned on before collapsing onto the couch, breathless with the lingering remnants of her nervous laughter – and entirely in support of Rachel’s suggestion to _relax_ until Chloe arrived – because that kiss confirmed and resolved a number of things Max seemed to have been worried about lately, and she wanted time to think. Time to, as she put it, _put it all together_.

Rachel gave her until the first commercial break.

**rachel!!!!!!!!!**

_Now_ , she’s turning her phone to silent with a smile, tossing it to some other corner of the couch. She looks down at Max, still obliviously rubbing the pads of her fingers against the fresh bruise just underneath her ear.

Max smiles up at her. Face still flushed. Breaths still ragged and unsteady. Fingers still, _still_ exploring every detail of that bruise on her neck like it might disappear if she doesn’t. But her voice is dripping with more contentment than Rachel thinks she’s ever heard. “Did you just take a picture?”

“Sorry,” Rachel singsongs, and she knows Max doesn’t believe her for a second. “But can you blame me for wanting to brag?”

“To… who?”

Her phone goes off again, the only reason Rachel notices being the particular way it sits wedged between the cushions so that every vibration shoots through the rest of the couch. Every new text making itself known through a frantic series of almost-Morse-code messages. Rachel bites back a chuckle at the idea of Chloe’s increasingly distressed typing about still having an hour left in her shift.

Rachel winks. “Just Chlo. I heard a little about the fun you had with her at the skate park.”

“O – oh…” Max says through a nervous chuckle. She takes a deep breath, her hands settling against Rachel’s thighs like she barely still realizes she’s currently straddled and pinned against the back of the couch. “Okay then.”

“It’s okay if you’re not okay, Max.”

“I am!” Max shakes her head, brows drawn down with a newfound intensity as she searches for the words. “I _am._ It’s just… H – have you seen you? Or me? _I_ should be the one bragging here.”

Rachel quirks a brow in question.

“I don’t know if you know this, Rachel, but you’re kind of popular.”

“Oh?”

“And I’m, like, a nobody.”

“You,” Rachel whispers, tilting Max’s chin up and leaning back down for another kiss. “Are,” and another. “Adorable.”

And another. For good measure.

The next breath to pass Max’s lips trembles every step of the way. But when she reopens her eyes, she’s smiling.

Rachel doesn’t add anything to the moment other than another gentle kiss.

And another only _slightly_ less gentle kiss.

“So, um,” Max stutters out the instant they’re far enough in to be too far gone for conversation: Rachel’s tongue flicking out against the roof of Max’s mouth, pulling away each time with new noises and sounds from the depths of Max’s throat until she’s surging up and into the kiss, chasing after Rachel’s lips and sweeping her hands over Rachel’s sides and… She pulls away. Pushes back tenderly against Rachel’s shoulders. “I need to say something.”

“Okay,” Rachel smiles softly, brushing her hands soothingly up and down Max’s shoulders.

“It – it’s important to me.”

“Hey. Max, it’s okay.”

Because it is.

If Max doesn’t want this, they can stop.

“…Okay,” Max sighs in something close to relief. The air in her lungs seems to escape all at once.

“Okay?”

“Okay. I’ve never… Uh – Okay. So, I’ve never had a girlfriend before.” She swallows, hard, and pushes ahead. “I mean… I’ve _wanted_ one. I’m not, like, wavering in that. Like, okay – some boys are cute and some boys aren’t, you know? And I think lately I like the idea of them a lot more than the reality of them. Which, there’s probably some reason for that, right? I actually wonder sometimes what my life would look like without you or Chloe in it, and I feel like it would look like boys. But my point – the thing I’m – boys are better on paper than in real life, I guess, and,” Max swallows again, and Rachel has to try with everything in her to bite her laugh down into a fond little smile. This is important for Max, and she needs to say it. Even if she’s rambling her way there in the most roundabout way imaginable.

“Breathe between your sentences, Max.” Rachel whispers softly, as kind as she can because she _means_ it, and she’s leaning just far enough away to give Max her space.

Max nods so fast it seems like her head might bounce away. “Sorry. I… Sorry. Off topic… Um, it just never worked out. Not exactly. Girls, I mean.”

“It’s okay,” Rachel promises, stroking a thumb lazily over the line of Max’s jaw. “We’ve all been there. It’s kind of a mandatory stop on the line from _point a_ to _point gay_ , you know?”

When Max snorts, trying so hard to hide her laugh that she has to look away, Rachel knows everything is going to be okay.

“ _Point bi_ maybe? That one doesn’t have the same ring to it, though. Point is, I get it,” she says, gently urging Max to meet her eyes again. “If you need to slow down, we can.”

All Max seems to be able to manage in response is to stare into Rachel’s eyes. Vulnerable and shy like she’s waiting for some imaginary boot to drop. That expression she wears when she’s worried voicing a particular thought or opinion might cause something to go wrong. Might invite catastrophe and destruction of everything she knows.

Rachel tries pave over that feeling as best she can. “Like, look. Feelings are hard. But, you know, now you’ve got _two_ girlfriends. Or whatever you want to call us. Gal pals. Friends who maybe get a little horny together sometimes. Maybe… we’ll stay _just_ friends. Whatever you want out of this.”

Max stays silent.

Her mouth slips open in some miniscule expression of shock.

“And only If you want us.”

Max still does not answer.

“Oh. Oh, honey, did I break you?” Rachel teases. If being honest won’t pull her out of this, she can at least guess at something that might.

Something in Max’s expression twitches, so Rachel leans back in, voice dipping low, and playful, and breathy. “Do you need me put all your pieces back together? Bandage you up? Administer CPR? I promise I’ll be gentle. It might be a bit of a struggle to hunt down all the king’s horses and all the king’s men, but I hear they have a bad track record with this sort of thing anyway.”

“Oh my god, shut _up!_ ” Max exclaims, and she is _so_ happy, laughing like Chloe does all the time and like she never, _ever_ has. At least, not around her. It reminds her of late nights with Chloe. Half-awake and too high to stand up straight, listening to something funny enough to send them rolling onto the floor. Rachel thinks she might finally understand exactly where that habit came from. Why it has always, _always_ reminded her more of the words in the pages of a journal than the Chloe that she’s around nearly every hour of every day.

It was one more thing to hold on to. One more tool to keep that memory close. To keep from forgetting.

Max buries her face in Rachel’s chest to muffle the noise, hands clenched in the side of her shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded even with the couch and the carpet and the floor. Rachel wants to wrap her arms around Max’s body and hold her close. To feel every second of whatever this is seeping inside of her heart until it’s absolutely full of it.

And then she remembers she can.

So, she does.

She presses a kiss to the top of Max’s head. She’ll keep this moment going as long as she possibly can. “Hey, so, did either of us ever tell you about our plans to leave Arcadia?”

Max nods.

“Let’s go right now.”

Max pushes herself away, and she’s still _beaming_. “What?”

“Let’s go.” Rachel says again. “ _Right now._ ”

Something faint flickers in Max’s smile, bringing the entire thing in by a notch or two. But whatever it loses to cause that outcome finds a replacement worth twice what was there before, and suddenly Max is inches away from laughing all over again. “Now?”

Rachel nods eagerly.

“Should – should we like, get toothpaste or anything? Or money? Or… Or Chloe?”

“Absolutely not. Where’s your sense of adventure, Pirate Queen?”

“It needs you to put me back together first.”

“I see.”

“And it probably definitely needs Chloe.”

“Probably definitely,” Rachel agrees, like they’re only talking about what to watch on TV whenever it is that she inevitably decides to climb out of Max’s lap.

“Probably. At least probably.” Max says.

This time, Rachel is the one to get swept up in a whirlwind of laughter.

This time, Max is the one to kiss her out of it.

~*~

The wait for Chloe passes slow and fast and maybe even a bit in between. Rachel is, as always, the perfect amount of too much, too fast, too often, and she sweeps Max up; sweeps her away, until they’re sprawled across the couch, lying one on top of the other as they talk about potential future plans. Everything from the vague big picture; from what cities they want to see; what foods they want to eat; what amount of touristy behavior is _too_ touristy for Rachel to let Max get away with it, and all the way down to the laser focused details. Finding a place to live. Rent, and bills, and the possibility of living their lives entirely on the road. Nothing but their collective savings, cheap motels, and whatever odd jobs they can grab along the way.

Rachel doesn’t explain her attachment to that particular idea.

Whenever Max asks, she deflects. Promises that any future at all with the three of them in it would be enough for her.

Max isn’t sure she believes. Not entirely. But she gives Rachel that win and stores the vague layer of concern away in the back of her mind to revisit later.

She gives Rachel that win, and she lets Rachel move their conversation back to somewhere just a bit safer, until Rachel takes Max’s hands into her own, and Max’s brain does that thing again. Where it just sort of shuts down.

She’ll worry some other time about the fact that hand holding is what fries the last circuit in her head even though she’s already pressed all the way up against Rachel’s body.

Some other time when she’s not already caught somewhere around disbelief at the fact that she’s _lying on Rachel’s chest_ and tangled up in Rachel’s legs and Rachel’s arms and lost in Rachel’s eyes while another episode of another sitcom rattles along innocently in the background.

That sitcom character will have their problem neatly solved and wrapped up in a bow by the end of the episode.

Max is significantly less sure about her own chances of solving the entirely unrelated _Rachel is staring with those eyes and she’s smiling with those lips and touching with those hands and, and, and_ side of things.

She’s not exactly sure she wants to.

But then, in what feels like the blink of an eye, it’s five and ten and fifteen minutes later, and Chloe is barging through the front door of the cabin, shouting at the top of her lungs and already most of the way finished with her complaining about how, “I know I promised I’d make some food ‘cause Rachel’s secretly a big fuckin’ sap about the idea of domesticity, but despite how rich this place looks, it only has a glass top stove. And I will die before I become the sort of asshole that willingly cooks on a glass top stove.”

Rachel doesn’t answer.

Or move.

Or let Max go.

So, by the time Chloe gets her boots thrown off into spaces at least vaguely near the door and stumbles in on the finale of the TV show, Max is reflexively filling with confused almost-panic at the idea of being caught like this because the entire concept of _this_ is still so confusing for her. Rachel, meanwhile, continues smiling innocent and wide and bright. Punctuating every few excuses used to shut Max down and keep her in her arms with a kiss on the nose, or the cheek, or the lips.

Max looks up just in time to see Chloe half sit on the arm of the couch, looking entirely too pleased with herself and a lot of the way pleased with Rachel.

“We’re having burgers,” She grins, toothy and teasing as she holds up the brown paper bag like the impressive catch of a grueling, hours long hunt.

~*~

Their meal isn’t so much as halfway started by the time Max finds herself caught in the middle of the couch and the middle of a bizarrely emotionally charged argument about _Frasier_.

Apparently, it’s the name of the sitcom that’s been on all evening.

Apparently, Chloe has very strong opinions about the show.

Rachel seems like she just wants to tease.

Max almost can’t believe that it’s all happening right in front of her. She only barely manages to stifle a laugh by glancing over at Rachel.

Rachel, who is perfectly posed and smiling like mischief incarnate. Leaning back against her corner of the couch with too much grace and poise and completely without the tiniest shred of effort. She doesn’t address or acknowledge Max’s silent struggle – not exactly – but the specific lack of reaction in her lack of reaction is enough to convince Max that maybe she wasn’t so successful in swallowing down that sound after all.

When Chloe’s ranting on why _Frasier is_ so much _better than Cheers, thank you very much_ stumbles to an abrupt stop, Max looks back, and suddenly Chloe is smiling too, only _mildly_ embarrassed with herself. She collapses into her seat and shoves the last too-big bite of her burger into her mouth.

“Next time we catch one of those rerun marathons,” Chloe grumbles around her food, arms folded and her entire forehead drawn down like the declaration she’s making is the gravest matter they’ve discussed all night. A crime for the ages: watching old comedies from the so-early-in-the-nineties-they’re-still-pretty-much-still-the-eighties days. “Just you fuckin’ wait.”

It is, in fact, the only matter they’ve discussed all night.

But Rachel’s smile doesn’t falter for an instant.

“That positive you’ll bring me around, hm?”

She’s winding Chloe up, and she must know it, because Chloe knows it, and _Max_ knows it, but Max is also starting to piece together that maybe this is just what it’s like. Lighthearted teasing and prodding over tiny things like _oh,_ _you and your other girlfriend and your old TV_ and _you don’t need all those fries; I need all those fries_ because they both already know that they would move mountains for each other without even needing to be asked.

Max thinks that maybe they already have.

“Hella sure,” Chloe declares, perfectly matter of fact. “Max always has my back.”

“Oh, you sure about that?”

Rachel looks to Max.

And Max thinks, watching the way her lips are curved and the way her eyes are just slightly heavy and lidded and so many different kinds of satisfied, that she might be able to guess at what she’s thinking.

So, she grins, too.

“Yeah, _Chloe_. You sure about that?”

~*~

It’s dark outside and whatever channel they had on has already switched over to its late-night segment when Max finally registers the sound of Rachel snoring. Chloe’s legs are draped over Max’s lap while Rachel lays on top of them both. Her face is entirely buried against Chloe’s chest. Chloe has her safely tucked against her with one hand carding slowly, steadily through her hair. Her other is rolling around an empty can of beer she hasn’t been able to throw away since Rachel fell asleep, and the whole thing feels so completely and utterly peaceful that Max barely registers the moment happening when she meets Chloe’s eyes and croaks out,

“I always thought I was the only one who snored like that.”

“Oh, _Caulfield,_ ” Chloe smirks, lolling her head in Max’s direction and looking absolutely stunning in the pulsing glow of the TV. So many colors changing every half second and painting her in tens and hundreds of LED canvases. Each and every one burning itself into the walls Max’s heart. Chloe shakes the beer they both know is empty like she still expects to find anything else inside, throws her head back, and pretends to drink whatever lukewarm drops might still be left. “You didn’t think you had a monopoly on keeping me awake, did you?”

She can barely contain the laugh hanging on the end of that sentence.

~*~

Things change in the following weeks.

Really, things have been changing for Max ever since the day she first came back to Arcadia Bay. Ever since she met Rachel Amber. Ever since her first day talking to Chloe again, and the night of her first party, ever, in her life, and… they haven’t stopped. Things haven’t stopped. Not once. Not since that day.

And things are changing again.

Fall comes to an end and brings the cold, and the snow, and the winter in its wake.

Max isn’t entirely sure how it happens, but she gets talked into helping Dana and Taylor plan for the Blackwell Winter Party and only really puts together that she got duped into the whole thing about a week before the day in question.

Maybe she was hypnotized.

Maybe Dana and Taylor are a pair of all-powerful benevolent witches.

Because, for one reason or another, as the planning and the decorating and ticket selling goes on, she ends up spending less and less time with them; less time having things explained to her like she’s never done this before – because she has never done this before – and far more with Brooke.

It isn’t _productive_ time. Mostly.

Just like it also isn’t all that surprising that maybe they didn’t have all the time in the world to dedicate to teaching Max how this stuff works.

Something about it still feels intentional.

Brooke still has her trust issues, and Max is pretty sure there’s just something about the people they are that won’t ever fit together in the way she feels like they should. But they smooth enough things over. Brooke finally accepts that Warren’s issues aren’t Max’s fault.

It feels like the closest thing to a win she was ever going to get out of that situation.

And it has Max wondering whether that was the entire point.

But it couldn’t be.

But it might have been.

And, the dance comes, and Max goes, because Rachel _begs_ until Chloe gets roped in and suddenly the both of them are begging, _pleading,_ with Max to come and enjoy the results of all her hard work, and Max feels like there might not be anyone on earth strong enough to turn them down in that moment.

She doesn’t actually dance. Much.

But she watches Rachel and Chloe. And she talks to friends and not-so-friends, and eventually even runs her way into Victoria, who gets maybe three or four sentences into the most genuinely pleasant start-of-a-conversation they’ve ever had before Rachel’s name comes up and she appears like magic, Chloe trailing right behind.

They drag Max away. Because they _still_ want to dance. And Max decides that maybe it’s okay if she never had any real choice on this specific point.

~*~

Where the winter was loud, the spring is quiet. Max still spends time with Rachel, and she still spends time with Chloe, but mostly, she prepares for her future. Whatever that future might be. Photography is still the closest she comes to deciding.

It isn’t particularly exciting, but it feels good. It’s stable and easy. Safe.

She even learns what a date is like.

A real one.

With a kiss at the end and everything.

And all of it feels like breathing room Max has been dying for ever since the fall.

Until it isn’t.

~*~

Max doesn’t know _why_ she wakes up when she does on the exact right night to see what she sees.

But she does.

And maybe that’s the only part that matters. Maybe all of Rachel and Chloe’s _maybes_ are rubbing off on her.

It’s four or maybe five in the morning when she steps out of her room and into the hall, thinking she might just splash some water in her face and give sleeping another go.

It is a very straightforward plan.

But she steps out just as Rachel and Chloe step in, and after the initial shock of making eye contact passes, she sees that Rachel has one arm slung over Chloe’s shoulder. She sees her trembling and holding back tears and bruised all over. She sees Chloe sporting a pair of bloodied knuckles and trying to hide a limp. She sees them both nearly topple over with the very next step they take.

And she doesn’t hesitate for a second.

~*~

She learns about Frank that night. The one Chloe mentioned. The one Chloe told Max to stay away from. Chloe doesn’t ever explain her knuckles. Max can probably guess. Her limp is the result of a dog bite. Rachel stopped it. Rachel tried to stop a lot of things. The explanation comes bracketed by way too many _It’s okay, I’ll be fine-_ s and even more _It’s late, you don’t have to stay if this is too much_ -es. But Max stays. She isn’t going anywhere.

She makes sure to tell them as much.

Over and over and over.

And, even though Rachel never feels confident enough to accept that fact as truth, Chloe is there at her side, letting Max know exactly how helpful she’s being at every possible opportunity through all of her countless looks and touches, side hugs and full hugs and even the occasional group hug.

After Chloe drags Rachel off to the showers to deal with the worst of it, they all spend what little is left of the night crammed into Rachel’s bed.

Holding her as close and as tight as possible, promising that everything will be okay in every way that they can. Promising that everything will be okay until all of those roaring flames and raging winds, warring and spinning and struggling as they are to find a new balance with everything that they want and everything that they are have extinguished themselves into nothing; into the calm and the empty of warm bodies, beating hearts, and sleep.

~*~

Max wakes up with the sun. She isn’t sure she ever really made it to sleep.

She isn’t sure any time really passed.

She wakes up either way.

She sits herself down on the foot of the bed, and even though the foot of the bed is a _completely_ inappropriate place to be nearing a panic attack, she doesn’t stop. And even though the entire reason she spent the night was to help _Rachel_ with _her_ problems, she doesn’t stop.

A hand on her shoulder and a pair of bare legs swinging across her lap is all it takes to snap her out of it.

Rachel. Still wearing that sheer blue shirt and a whole lot of nothing else. She scoots closer, once, twice, and then she’s pulling Max into her side, tucking Max’s head into the crook of her neck, and weaving soothing patterns through the bumps of her spine like little lullabies written with the pads of her fingers and the tips of her nails.

They don’t talk.

At least, not at first. Not until Max is calm and breathing steady, no more than a handful of seconds from falling back to sleep in Rachel’s arms.

“Come on, Max,” she says, nuzzling into Max’s hair and smiling wider and wider with every word. “Let’s get back to the fuck pile.”

Behind them, Chloe stirs. She groans and husks out some series of somethings that sounds an awful lot like, “The fuck is this about a fuck pile?”

Rachel angles her head just slightly to the side. “Nothing, baby. You’re dreaming.”

A second passes, then another, and Chloe shrugs, concedes that point as probably true, and falls back into the pillow.

Rachel laughs, even smaller than the faintest exhale.

And Max follows.

~*~

Summer isn’t the same. Max isn’t sure things will ever go back to the way they were before.

But the summer, at least, is slow.

Whatever final piece of the puzzle was missing for Max ever since that night at the cabin finds its way into her possession somewhere in the transition. Somewhere in the middle of the changing of the seasons.

Summer isn’t the same, but it doesn’t need to be. Things feel good. They feel better than good. And, Max finally feels like she belongs.

Even when Rachel and Chloe get into another fight.

Especially when they get into another fight.

She isn’t there to hear this one, but her realization that something is wrong starts somewhere around the time Chloe shows up at some ungodly hour of not-quite-morning knocking too hard on the door to her room, whispering too loud to still be considered a whisper and smiling too wide for Max to believe any of what she’s seeing is actual, genuine joy.

Chloe is drunk.

“So, Maxy-Max Max, don’t wanna scare you, but I might be a _liiittle_ drunk,” Chloe slurs and stumbles, and she’s still smiling so wide – too wide, too happy – when Max reaches out to grab her by the wrists and yank her inside.

She only places the something sticky coating Chloe’s wrists as blood the next morning. Some of it rubbed off onto her sheets. The rest of it rubbed off onto _her._

So, Max’s realization starts there.

It continues with Rachel all but disappearing from her life until they catch each other after class one day, and Rachel latches onto Max’s side almost faster than she’s capable of recognizing who she’s looking at. Rachel spends the rest of the afternoon and the rest of the evening maybe a little too quiet. A little too insistent on staying by Max’s side, and a little too firm in her desire to never, ever stop touching her for any reason at all.

Max’s realization ends with the sunset; with a text to Chloe that gets her to show up in the blink of an eye. It ends with Max inviting Rachel and Chloe into her room, locking the door, and refusing to let either of them leave until they talk it out. She falls asleep somewhere in the middle of their talking, and fixing, and whatever it is that they do. In her last moments of consciousness, she thinks one of them maybe mentions that name again. Frank.

But she never learns for sure. Instead, she wakes up in the middle of her couch, one head on each of her shoulders and a blanket that definitely isn’t hers spreading from lap to lap to lap.

And, okay, maybe she doesn’t ever learn _why_ they were mad at each other, but there isn’t any more moping around after that night. No more late-night visits full of too-loud talking and too-insistent touching. No more sneaking around campus. No more sneaking around town.

So maybe learning the _why_ doesn’t matter.

Because they’re happy again.

~*~

At the end of everything – or at least, at the end of the school year and barely a week after graduation – Max finds herself cramming her entire world into the back of Chloe’s truck. In Chloe’s driveway. It should feel strange seeing the aftermath; seeing every possession she cared to bring tucked neatly away between Chloe and Rachel’s boxes of equally important things, and all of it condensed down to _this._ Only enough to fit into the bed of a truck.

Max isn’t sure she has a word for the feeling.

But it isn’t strange. It isn’t that.

“What do you think, Max?” Rachel asks at her side, slamming one last box into place and slapping a palm down over a bicep as she makes a show of flexing. “Think we built enough muscle to take Chlo down?”

Max smiles back fondly, chuckling out more than a few stray breaths. “Oh, for sure.”

The moment is short lived. A car door slams shut behind them.

Rachel jumps at the sound. Just enough for Max to know her worrying hasn’t gone away. Even though they’ve kept their plans as secret as plans could possibly be, it was never enough to silence that particular worry, it seems. Max doesn’t need to look – she can hear Chloe just fine – but she does anyway. To help soothe Rachel’s worries.

“It’s just Chloe and Dana. They told us they’d be late, remember?” she whispers, rubbing a gentle hand over Rachel’s shoulder blades and down her back. It seems to help, but the fact remains that this fear won’t leave Rachel’s side until they’re gone for good. All Max can do now is help them along.

Max casts another quick glance over her shoulder. Chloe is leaning against the hood of Dana’s car while they talk about something too quiet to make out. They’re touching maybe a bit much, and Dana keeps reaching up to brush imaginary hairs out of Chloe’s face, and Chloe keeps leaning into her palm like maybe she knows exactly how little time she has left to take advantage, and like they maybe did a little more than just spend yesterday saying goodbye.

Which is Rachel’s other worry.

She and Max decided against a big farewell with any of their friends beyond the usual _we’re graduating and probably won’t see each other ever again_ affair.

It didn’t feel right to do anything more. The worry that Frank might come to stop them is one that all three of them know and all three of them share.

But that? Chloe and Dana? Rachel only brought it up after making Max promise in fifty different ways and backed by ten times as many touches not to ever mention it to anyone. Rachel knows Dana and Chloe have something she’ll never understand, and that something is something she’ll always support. Just like she knows Dana only wanted to give Chloe a big send off as her way of saying thank you for everything that Chloe did and everything that they went through together. She knows that it’s why Dana had a monopoly on Chloe’s time for all of yesterday and all of last night and even a bit of this morning.

They both do.

But Rachel confided to Max, barely a handful of hours ago, that she was worried. That, maybe a little part of her, some part deep, deep down in the depths of her rib cage and the space beneath her heart, has spent years housing a stupid, insecure fear every single day. Has spent day after day wondering whether Chloe might choose Dana over her.

Max knew otherwise. She might not have had every detail, but she knew. And she still knows now.

 _We love you,_ she said, wriggling herself further into Rachel’s arms and wiggling her fingers along Rachel’s sides until she was finally smiling and laughing like everything – at least for the moment – was right. _So frickin’ much, Rachel._

And besides, Chloe promised.

It’s not like they’d get very far without her anyway, only Chloe knows how to drive stick, and one of the conditions David laid out for allowing them to use the driveway like this was that they would _all_ be gone for good by the afternoon.

The rare show of kindness only motivated Max to disappear as soon as possible. She isn’t sure she could handle seeing many more… _afters._

And Chloe _is_ here now.

“Let’s go say hi,” Max offers. She reaches over, and takes one of Rachel’s hands into her own, and kisses each and every knuckle, watching as the tension slowly fades out of her.

Watching as Rachel takes a breath, nods, and steadies herself out.

But the second they turn, Chloe is there.

The second they turn, Rachel is bumping into Chloe’s chest, and Chloe is laughing that laugh, and smiling that smile, and kissing Rachel on the forehead. Pulling her close until Rachel’s face is completely buried in her arms.

“I’m here,” she whispers, smiling and smiling and kissing Rachel again as she nuzzles as close as she can. Rachel is crying now, just a little, which is still the kind of crying she hates the most, and Max just _knows_ she must be furious with herself for showing this side of herself so early in the day. But Chloe’s face is relentlessly kind, and _happy,_ and she laughs when she says, “I’m here. Stop worrying, you big fuckin’ babies.”

~*~

They pass the rotting wooden skeleton of the _Now Leaving Arcadia Bay_ sign in silence. Max leans away from the window and settles into Rachel’s side. She threads their fingers together.

Rachel kisses her soft on the forehead.

“Where’s _my_ kiss?” Chloe jokes, leaning against the window with one hand on the wheel and throwing the periodic look their way as if to say _I’m kidding, except not really, give me one too actually._

It's the only thing any of them says while the sign slowly shrinks away to nothing in the rearview mirror.

It’s the only thing any of them has the strength to say.

They could make a moment out of it. But the fact of the matter is that even if they don’t know where they’ll end up, they already know that they’re never going back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wahoo, it's the end!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who stuck around through this entire story! Whether you commented or left kudos or gave this thing any attention at all, I appreciate all of it a lot lot lot. Like I mentioned last chapter, I've still got that Dana/Chloe side story in the works. That'll probably go up sometime in July.
> 
> Until then though, I've got a few one shots that have nothing to do with this AU I'd like to write! And I need a break. Six months of this thing, jeez.


End file.
